Dummies Guide To Botching Up A Friendmance
by Azkas19
Summary: FemHawke x Fenris McSteamy vs Sebastian McDreamy. Only the awesome might of Fenris's fangirls could finally push his beloved Marian back into his arms. But why is the pesky Prince of Starkhaven making things difficult for them? AU. No smut, but it's M because of tonsil hockey bits.
1. Prologue: A Foolhardy Mission

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Loads of thanks to my beta Duel Soul for her input and ideas. I'm new to this beta thing...so maybe I should buy her a froyo or something...

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><p>The first thing Marian did after getting engaged was use her fiancé's name to betray Fenris.<p>

It wasn't necessary, but it's the fastest way to get Danarius to agree meeting her. After all, what pompous, megalomaniacal despot would turn down a possible power alliance with the future princess of Starkhaven?

As a person, Danarius didn't seem like the generic character spawned out of a random villain generator (Manic laugh? Check. Plotting world dominion while rubbing hands together evilly? Check. Inventor of cruel and unusual punishment? Double check.) If anything, he reminded her slightly of uncle Gamlen…albeit one in a tacky robe and possessing higher intellectual points.

However, the fact that he had this unnerving habit of stroking nearby inanimate objects like they were cats never escaped her. More than once during dinner she had to force herself to stop staring when he began to caress the table, the armrest of his chair and even his own hand. The man probably had serious intimacy issues, considering the glaring vacuum where a wife should be…and possibly his only means of entertainment were his slaves.

But stupid and innocent were cards Marian had played so many times before. They're practically part of her essential recipes for success. After all, anyone can buy the 'playing smart' starter kit and wind up being a sad, greasy patch on the cobblestones of Lowtown. Danarius was a sneaky bastard through and through, and it's evident when he's been surreptitiously trying to get her drunk for the past hour or so.

She couldn't say it wasn't working, for she was never a good drinker to begin with. The flush of alcohol was starting to bloom on her chest and cheeks; and already she could feel the treacherous waves of his mental probes, trying to access a way into her mind.

The best that Marian could do at the moment was to take slow, tiny sips of her wine and pray like she's never prayed before that Merrill's potion would last for at least another two hours. It won't make her immune to the mage's external attacks, but it will stop him from prying her thoughts open like an Orlesian oyster.

Only two people knew she was in Minrathous, yet even then it took a _lot_ of convincing for them to actually help her. It cost her another round of oratory skills to prove that there's no way she could strap a mini Bianca under her dress without risking firing her own foot when she's under stress.

She's a lone girl paddling up turd creek and she knew it. It was risky, yet she had to do it…for risks was something she enjoyed getting herself into. Add in the fact that she's still very much in love with Fenris, then she'll end up with a win-win situation. Sort of. Bloody hell, maybe she should've ordered a back-up team of Antivan Crows after all.

She blinked, thinking that Danarius had said something. "What is?"

"Your engagement ring, milady. It's a priceless family heirloom…a traditional royal Vael gift to their future brides. That's a brilliant cushion cut Starkhaven sapphire, if I may say so," the mage said, casting an appreciative glance towards her hand. At least she hoped it was her hand and not somewhere else. "The stone itself is exclusive only in its native country. You can never find sapphires as superb as this anywhere else. Did you know that sapphires are considered stones of destiny? They symbolize a pure and wise reign in kings. It seems you've made a right choice for a husband after all."

She smiled. "Yes, well…all the good ones were already taken, so it was either him or the village idiot. I must say it was a close toss up too," she said jokingly. "You seem to know a lot about gemstones."

"I merely have an eye for exquisite things. One must possess incredibly good tastes to be able to appreciate such treasures, don't you think?"

Marian raised an eyebrow at this. Finally Danarius was willing to talk shop. "Treasures such as a certain runaway investment, perhaps?"

"I must say your letter had interested me greatly. But I can't help but wonder why you are doing this."

"What can I say? I'm a greedy, double-crossing mercenary willing to play with only the big teams," she said, careful enough to keep her tones light. "Think of this as an act of goodwill."

"Oh? How so?"

Leaning forward, she adopted an enticing stance. Internally, she hoped that the sales pitch she's been practicing for days would work on him. Otherwise, it's on to Plan B…and she had none to begin with.

"Let's talk about total domination, shall we?" she said. "Your…investment is nothing more than piddling pocket change, Danarius. Think of the bigger picture. Tevinter's facing its twilight years and she'll need all the help she could get to regain her former power. Your army is strong, yet they're hard-pressed as it is, fighting the Qunari in Seheron. With help from Starkhaven, you'll be able to regain your southern lands and establish a stronger base for mages throughout the whole of the Free Marches. No more Circles and most definitely no more Templars. We both know they're not exactly the most cheerful of people in the party."

"Hm, I see. And I take it the fact that your sister is a prisoner of the Circle played a major factor in this plan of yours?"

Marian's expression hardened. "We spent our entire childhood being hunted down by Templars. My father died regretting the life we had. Six years in Kirkwall gives me plenty of time to think of what I'd like to do with them."

Danarius did something which made her worry. He chuckled sinisterly.

"My dear Lady Hawke," he said, "clearly you do not understand me as well as you think."

"Meaning what?" she asked, trying not to wince at a particularly forceful push in her mind. The mage was getting desperate.

"You guard your secrets well," he said, getting up from his seat. They were both at his opulent study, a place where she could imagine he'd be as he settled down to dream up a plot to destroy his enemies. He was obviously a man who valued his trophies, for on the wall above the fireplace hung an assortment of preserved heads, arranged according to size so they looked like a rather macabre version of Darwin's descent of man. She could recognize a bronto, five deepstalkers, several Qunaris and a selection of mages identifiable only from their funny hats. She suppressed a shudder when she unwittingly imagined Fenris's head adding to his collection.

"But too many secrets won't help you make friends easily, milady," Danarius's voice floated from behind. She felt, rather than heard his hand glide over the headrest of her armchair.

"A girl's got to keep her secrets," she said. "Otherwise men will lose interest."

"Oh, I am interested, all right. My spies have told me that you and Fenris are more than casual acquaintances." Marian's eyes slid sideways, following the path of his hand as it hovered over her left arm, not touching her in a way that sent goose pimples to her skin. It was gentle, almost like a lover's touch…yet coming from him it was wrong in many ways. "As a matter of fact, the both of you have gotten rather…" His hand stopped at her fingertips. "…intimate. Tell me: how was he? Did he satisfy you in ways no other man could?"

She smiled. "I don't kiss and tell, Danarius. If I did, you'll be asking about my fiancé's performance next."

He chortled. "A Chantry brother, under a vow of chastity until after his marriage? I hardly think he merits any comparison whatsoever." When he moved away from her, she released the breath she didn't realize she was holding. He settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded her with a look of pure amusement.

"I taught him everything he knew, that dear wolf of mine," he said. "He's very good at taking orders, isn't he? Oh, don't even bother denying it. He's every woman's dream. Every man's too, when it comes to that. I know that he never failed to satisfy me."

"And just think how easy it is now to get him back," she said with a sardonic smile.

"I treat him like my own child," he went on as if she never spoke. "He was a wild little thing when he first came to me. Yet I loved him, oh yes, in a way that made him even more beautiful. I pride myself as an artist, you see…and he's my masterpiece…" he trailed off as a faraway look descended over his face. His right hand began to slowly and rhythmically caress his left forearm.

Marian blinked as ghostly images began to swim across her vision. A sudden panic gripped her. _Maker, did Danarius put something in her drink? _

"I try to show how much I love him," she heard his voice cutting through the haze like a disembodied commentator on the piece of twisted montage flitting through the dark theatres of her mind. "I keep coming to him every night until the screams stop. It was early in the morning when he finally welcomed me with open arms. And he'd still accept me, even through the blood and pain. He's an eager pupil, and I was more than happy to teach him over again. We're very affectionate, he and I. Sometimes I feel as if he's the only thing in this world that understands me. Tell me: has he ever…danced for you?"

Squeezing her eyes shut from a disturbing image of writhing naked bodies, she reached out blindly, and grazed over her glass of wine.

"Oh, dear. You've spilled your drink over yourself. Better get that cleaned quickly. Silk does not take kindly to wine."

"Yes," she gasped, shooting up to her feet. "I'm sorry. I would've thought that I have enough social grace to make up for my clumsiness, but clearly I'm very much mistaken."

"I shall get someone to assist you. Varania? Could you please make sure Lady Hawke is tended to?"

Danarius was a sick bastard indeed. Marian's grateful smile towards the red headed elf who'd just stepped into the room turned into ice when she heard him say: "Oh, you haven't met Fenris's sister, have you? I'm sure you'll be the best of friends, just like you were with him."

Marian's eyes slid from the elf to the guards who'd came in after her and knew the game was up. She forced out a laugh. "Ah, so this is the part where I get caught," she said, taking a step backwards. "You'll gloat about your plans then kill me afterwards?"

"Eventually, yes," said Danarius to the sounds of the guards unsheathing their swords and slowly fanning out to block her escape. "But you're far more useful to me alive for now…at least until Fenris comes here to rescue you. You've made yourself out as a rather poor opponent, Lady Hawke. Using Starkhaven to ply on my greed? How disappointing. And terribly juvenile. At first I thought that it was merely a ruse of yours, but it appears that I may have overestimated your capabilities after all. Is this all the Champion of Kirkwall could offer me? I've killed orcs far more brilliant than you. Quickly get behind her, please. She's trying to make for that window."

"Technically, the Champion wasn't me. I've tried telling people that, but they wouldn't listen."

"Oh? Then who, pray tell, is the _real_ Champion?"

She sucked in a breath and said the name out loud. Danarius chuckled.

"Hardly surprising, no?" he said. "You hide behind your friends and use their talents while all you do is strut around and pretend that you are great. Does it help you feel better about yourself, holding your superiority over them?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me, since you're an expert at that." A strange look crossed her face, and for a moment she seemed to be distracted.

"You're painfully naïve, Lady Hawke. I suspect that the only reason you've made it this far was by sheer luck. But luck has a disappointing habit of running out. What _are_ you going to do then?"

"The same thing I always do: improvise. That classic 'Look, what's that behind you?' trick also works. Sometimes. But, Danarius?"

"What?"

"I'm always lucky because I _make_ my own luck."

The magister's smile disappeared. "Grab her arms! She's up to something!"

Marian turned around just in time to see a sword pommel descending towards her. She never got the chance to duck.

That was when all of the Fade broke loose.


	2. Attack of the Rabid Fangirls

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Duel Soul: the Awesomeness. Thanks for being my beta. I'm gonna keep on plugging your username throughout this entire fic :D

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><p><em>3 months ago…<em>

Marian Hawke's jaws dropped spectacularly to the floor. Varric thought there's nothing more suggestive than a woman sitting with her mouth open before him, but this was a completely different matter altogether.

"I'm sorry…could you repeat that…?" she finally burbled weakly.

"The polls tell it all, Hawke. 34% agree that Fenris's most attractive feature is his hair, while 10% say that they like his lyrium tattoos, and a whopping 56% say that they love his smouldering good looks. You should've seen the fangirls that I interviewed. Half of them would go ape nuts the minute I mention his name, and the rest just ends up swooning all over themselves. Some of them had his 'Wanted' fliers plastered all over their bedroom walls! I'm tellin' ya: it's crazy, Hawke!"

"Fenris has _fangirls?_ Him? The…the crabby moron with permanently bunched up knickers? _That_ Fenris?"

Varric chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes, the very same. _The_ Fenris who also happens to be Tevinter's poster boy for elven sex appeal. The very same Fenris who's your ex-boyfriend and-"

Marian scowled. "He's _not _my ex-boyfriend."

Varric didn't miss a beat. "Fine. Your 'It's Complicated' status friend, then. Anyway, you'd be interested to know who they thought he should end up marrying."

"Maker, it's not…Merrill, is it? Because if it is, he'll just-"

"No. It's you, Hawke."

"Me? They get all squealy over his hair and now they decide _who_ he should be with? Just what kind of mad fanbase is this?"

"Apparently a one called 'Give Fenris His Hawke'. They're amazingly dedicated, you know. They've even made banners, placards, fanfiction-"

"Fanfiction? What blasted manner of silliness is that?"

"Here's a sample," Varric said, handing her a sheaf of papers. "Mind you, some of them are quite explicit, so you might want to order a glass of iced water first."

Marian gave them all a cursory glance. Apparently they were all creative retellings of her adventures. She couldn't understand why anyone would do that. Of _course _she knew what she did before this. She didn't need any fangirl to remind her that! Her eyes alighted on a likely looking paragraph and she settled down for a proper read.

_Gone were the final barriers between them as they lay bare against each other. The elf ghosted his lips over her sweat-stained skin as his fingers traced the sensuous curves of her br-_

_Oh my, _she thought. _They made it seem even better than the real thing. _As she found herself being dragged inexorability towards the end of the story, the descriptions grew steamier in such a way that she had to cross her legs tightly to – ahem - contain her excitement. There were some fanciful bedroom terms she couldn't make head nor tail of, but she memorized them anyway so that she could ask Isabela later…discreetly, of course.

As the story wound to an end, she dragged her eyes reluctantly towards Varric, who'd been observing her all those while with a very knowing smile.

"Pretty good stuff, huh?" he said.

"Ahem," she said, with as much dignity her Hawke pride could muster. "Pretty standard fair…one I could find in any common romance novels."

"So did it happen exactly the way they described it, or was yours better-"

"Varric Tethras, I'm sure that is absolutely none of your business!"

"Ah, no worries then," the dwarf chuckled. "I can always ask Fenris later. There's even one where he's a vampire in love with a human, which is you. Anders, for some strange reason, was a werewolf…and they both had to fight to win your love. The title of this mindless epic fluff? _Dusk._"

Shaking her head disbelievingly, she said: "Fenris knows about this?"

""Course he does! They're _his_ fans, after all. Anyway, that's not the whole crutch of the matter. Some of the more artistically inclined had even provided paintings of you both."

"Oh?"

"Take a gander at this one," the dwarf passed her a rolled-up canvas.

The minute she unrolled it, the first thing she'd encountered was a mess of tangled up limbs. Ah, so it's one where she and Fenris were wading through a group of darkspawn…or was it…? She tilted her head this way and that as she tried to make sense of the image.

"You're holding it upside-down," Varric said helpfully.

Her eyes widened as the dawn of realization began to creep over her face. It was a painting of her and Fenris, alright…only thing was, they were both engaged in a rather compromising position. If Marian had anything polite to say about this particular image, she'd describe it as something taken out of a tantric sex manual for octopuses. If Fenris were to attempt _that _maneuver in real life, he'd end up being an elven pretzel.

"Comments, maestro?" Varric said, clearly enjoying himself.

Marian found her voice at the third attempt. "The…colours," she rasped. "They're too soft. And the lighting. Very –uh- avant garde."

"Are they anatomically correct?"

Marian squeezed her eyes shut and pushed the painting away from her. "Can I have that cold water, please?"

"Certainly, milady," Varric said, signaling towards the serving girl. "So what do you think? Not too shabby for a fan club, eh? They've even got stuff about Fenris and Anders…but I don't think you'd want to see that."

"Maker, no! Are you trying to make my eyeballs bleed? They're good, I can give them that. While I can't stop them from writing or…painting whatever they like, can you at least make sure Sebastian doesn't know about this?"

"Ah, yes. Sebastian."

Sebastian, indeed. The current proverbial speed bump in the whole 'Give Fenris His Hawke' scheme. Marian herself was a person incapable of dropping bombshells on her friends, thus nobody suspected anything when the Starkhaven prince started to chat with her more often than usual. Warning flags failed to rise as well when she began spending more time at the Chantry, apparently to help him with his archery training. Even exquisite gifts from him arriving at her doorstep didn't raise any eyebrows since it was common practice among nobles.

It was after a particularly difficult high dragon battle, however, that the cat finally got out of the bag. Marian was so badly injured that it took all of Anders's healing powers to pull her back from the brink of death. When she finally opened her eyes, Sebastian rushed over to gather her in his arms and after berating her for being so reckless, he leaned over and kissed her squarely on the lips. In full view of everyone. Anders was so shocked he dropped his staff on his own foot. It would've been a funny situation indeed…if no one saw the pained expression on Fenris's face.

The elf simply dropped his head and silently slunk away in the pretext of searching the dragon's carcass for any salvageable loot. He'd remained detached from the rest of the group throughout the whole journey back afterwards.

"So it's official between you two?" Varric asked.

"I wouldn't exactly say official, but things are going well so far."

The dwarf sighed, a guilty grimace evident on his face. "Hawke. Marian…you know I'm your best wingman, right? I got your back no matter _what_ happens. You're probably going to hate me for saying this, but…I think the person you should really be concerned about is Fenris."

"Him? Why?"

"Look, I know you've got the 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned' thing going on right now, but despite how things went between the two of you, Fenris still cares about you a lot. He's just having problems showing it due to all that smouldering factor getting in the way."

For the second time that day, Marian gaped at him. "Did you honestly think I'm doing this out of _revenge?_ That Sebastian and me cooked up this outlandish ploy to hook up just so Fenris could get in touch with his sensitive side? Really, Varric. While your imagination does you a lot of credit, this is certainly one of the times where it doesn't. Besides, if he thinks I'm going to hang around like some stupid prissy maiden while he goes off to explore his inner zen, he's got another thing going on."

"Far from me to stop you from pursuing your own happiness, but I'm saying this for the sake of our team. You know he's one of our strongest players, Hawke. If he goes into another one of his emotional slump, he'll quickly become the weakest link. You don't want that to happen when you're counting on him to keep your arse from being nibbled by darkspawn."

"Right. So it's Happy Fenris plus Happy Varric equals Marian Gets To Keep Her Pert Bottom For A While Longer. Got it."

"Marian…"

"Yes, yes, I know what you mean, Varric. Maker's hell…I _hate_ it when you're right!"

"That's why you love me, darling," Varric beamed.

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><p>Aveline had heard stranger reports during her time at the barracks, but the one that she received from guardsman Donnic made her wonder if the man was really taking the mickey out of her.<p>

"Are you sure of what you saw?" she asked.

"Positive, captain. Ask my men and they'll say the same thing: all these 'Support Fenris' grafitti had been painted all over Lowtown and Darktown. There were even street urchins handing out fliers about him. Understandably he's become some sort of hero amongst its residents, namely the elves. But what I found odd was this 'Give Fenris His Hawke'-" at that point, Donnic's face screwed up in concentration as he navigated the strange phrase, "cos-play event. It could be some sort of illegal underground gathering, but I can't say for sure. By your leave, captain, I will have some men look into this matter."

"Hm, yes. Sebastian."

Donnic blinked. "I…beg your pardon, captain?"

"I will personally get to the bottom of this, guardsman Donnic. If I'm any judge, Sebastian Vael is an unwitting cause to this whole matter and Lady Hawke would be smack dab in the centre of it all…a position, I'd like to add, she is rather fond of."

"You mean…the Prince of Starkhaven? Is this a political affair? Should the Viscount know about this?"

"No need for that. Things like this should be treated with as less noise as possible. I don't want to spread unnecessary panic just because a group of City Guards stopped a meeting which eventually turned up to be a harmless gathering of old ladies." She suddenly smiled, shaking her head wryly. "It seems as if sparks always fly wherever Lady Hawke goes. I'm beginning to miss those days."

"You sound happy when you say that, captain."

"Did the expression of joyous rapture give me away?"


	3. Men Gossip About Other Men Too

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Duel Soul, you rock. Thanks for beta-ing this.

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><p>In a similar fashion of two girlfriends meeting up after work for a round of appletinis and gossip, Varric and Fenris were doing the same thing…except that there were no dainty drinks with dubious paper umbrellas on their table.<p>

"Number one rule of the dating game: you don't bonk a girl once and then leave just like that," said Varric. "At least if you care enough for her. But what am I saying? _You_ didn't even date her first. Not even a single measly drink," the dwarf emphasized his point by tipping back his empty tankard. "No sirrah, you up and jumped her right there and then. Sneaky bastard. How the hell did you manage to do that without her castrating you?"

"My suave charm," Fenris drawled. "Works all the time."

"On every woman you've tried?"

"No, just her. I'm a fast learner, me."

"Oh? Then maybe it's not too late for you to learn the number one dating rule."

Fenris turned red-rimmed eyes towards the forest of tankards floating on the table before him. "How-" he suppressed a hiccup, "how many have we had so far?"

"Enough to poison our livers till the next Blight. Why? Worried about a little alcohol sickness?"

"Elves never get sick. We don't even have hangovers. Don't you know that?"

"Really? Not even a little sniffle?"

"No, not even that."

"Then…how'd you people die?"

"The normal way, of course. Sword wounds, arrows, poisons, a heartbreak…anything could work. If you're talking about the wild ones who live up to 200, I believe they get on this boat and go off on a long journey."

"What, sail away until they fall off the surface of the Free Marches? No offence, but that sounds boring."

Fenris chuckled. "It does, doesn't it? I'd rather take my chances joining Isabela's crew. Elven retirement plan was never that appealing to begin with."

"So…" Varric said, absently fiddling with a knothole on the wooden tabletop. "I really hate to say this, but you've just let Kirkwall's most desirable woman slip through your clawed gauntlets. Must be tough on you."

"Yes, well…I'm sure Sebastian would treat her far better than I ever could. Maybe they deserve each other…I don't know," Fenris said, trying to drown the traitorous thoughts prickling his mind like a persistent hedgehog. _Lies, lies, rotten lies, _they chanted. His insides twisted _painfully_ everytime he saw the two of them together. It took every ounce of his self-control to not claw out the soppy milkmaid looks on Sebastian's face whenever he looked at her. _Hah, lucky I'm manlier than that, _Fenris thought smugly to himself, an elf prone to kicked puppy looks himself.

"Shush, don't say that. You'll make your fangirls cry. Haven't you heard their latest tagline? 'Hawke and Fenris are MFEO'."

Fenris paused, digesting this info in his mind. "Should I even know what this MFEO stands for?" he asked cautiously. He'd read samples of the fanfiction himself and suffice to say he could no longer look at Marian without some of her more lurid descriptions swimming across his brain like an erotic alphabet soup. Argh, damn fangirls. They were probably under the influence of desire demons when they wrote those blasted things.

"'Made For Each Other'. Sweet, eh? I'm getting cavities just from looking at you both."

"Ugh, Varric. Do not go there. Just…don't. She's got Sebastian, and that's the end of the story. Moving on to second chapter."

"My dear friend, moving on is one looong journey with no return ticket. I've been there, and let me tell you…" Varric trailed off as his brain finally registered what his ears had heard. Fenris was morosely studying the contents of his drink when he suddenly found himself studying a faceful of alarmed dwarf instead.

"Whaddya mean you can die from heartbreak? Quick! We gotta get Marian here pronto! She may not like the idea, but I'm sure she's willing to do anything to save you. I know the Chantry's closed, but-"

Fenris reached up to untangle Varric's grip from his tunic. "Shut up, you. If you think I'm wasting my life away over some woman-"

"-hell, maybe _Choir Boy_ can marry you off or something. He's practically a brother now, so-"

"_Brilliant_. He'd be tripping all over himself to do that, wouldn't he? You need to sober up, Varric. The ideas you get when you're drunk is…bad."

Varric subsided, finally letting go of the elf. He slumped back into his seat. "Hmph. Choir Boy. What's he got that you don't, huh? He's handsome, a prince, an awesome fighter…and did I mention that he's a prince?"

"Yes, and he's got a forehead you can drive a cart on. Your point?"

"Hah! Nice one, Broody. You know that armour he wears? I bet when he walks down the Chantry steps, he was imagining the sun glinting off it…like _ting!_ Instant heroic effect. Oh, and he can cure dandruff too."

Fenris frowned dubiously at this. "Tried it before, have you?"

"No, no…you know what they say about a royalty's touch can cure almost anything?"

"Excellent. So now we can leave Anders behind during our missions. I'm beginning to tire of his incessant whining about mages and what-have-yous."

"What about you, huh? _You're_ a stone-cold lady-killer yourself, you've got this man-with-a-dark-past vibe going on, you're a superb fighter, and while you don't own a mansion, you _live _in one. Oh, and let's not forget you've got your own _fangirls."_

"Yes. Beat that, Sebastian Vael," Fenris deadpanned. "I got him by a margin of one. His bloody shiny armour doesn't count, because…well, it doesn't."

"Yep, who needs shiny when you can do glowy, eh? Besides, it doesn't take a snazzy uniform to make the ladies go a-tizzy."

"Then what does?"

"Good manners, for one. Clean socks. Holding up doors. Polite swearing."

"Oh, now you're just making things up."

Varric chuckled. "Relax, elf. I was just messing with you. Speaking of mess: I don't know if cobwebs and moldy plaster's a turn-on for some women, but I really think you should get some work done on that place of yours. Make it more…you know…_homey."_

"Home is merely a place to rest and eat my meals," Fenris said a tad bitterly. "I do not know of any other definition."

"Wouldn't hurt to add another one, my friend. How about: 'bachelor pad'? Got a nice ring to it, eh?"

"No."

"Huh, thought you'd be resistant to new ideas. I bet _Marian_ could coax a 'yes' out of you. She's been successful so far, hasn't she? Which stands to reason, since she'd never exactly said 'no' to you either."

"Nonsense. I can say 'no' to her just as easily with anyone."

"Really? Wanna bet your Blade of Mercy on that?"

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><p><em>Think she's got me twisted around her little finger, eh? <em>Fenris thought as he tottered his way home later that night. _Well, she'll be pleasantly surprised to see how wrong she was! I didn't bloody fight my way out to be my own man for nothing. Hah! _

He paused at a junction, trying to sift through his beer-addled memory the correct way to his home. Maybe he should've asked for that ball of twine from Varric.

_A lousy sense of direction, that's another thing Hawke's made of, _he thought as he set off on another path. Trying to decide their next course of adventure from a coin toss and praying for the best afterwards wasn't exactly his idea of proper time management, but that was Hawke's modus operandi until he put a stop to it. _Damn stupid-_

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled ominously. Any mugger tailing him thinking that they've got another potential victim would be terribly surprised to see how alcohol hadn't muddled up his reflexes. He went from tipsy to aggressive, sword drawn and a snarl on his lips as he searched the shadows for any possible threat.

If it were up to Hawke, she'd probably say something like 'I've got a fistful of hot lyrium megadeath and I'm not afraid to use it!'; but no: this was Fenris, and silly one-liners wasn't his style. When nothing came after him, he carefully sheathed back his weapon. He knew he was being watched. The painful sounds of several people trying to be as quiet as possible were a clear enough indication.

Not bounty hunters, then. They're not exactly the shy type. He reached home without any further incident. This should warrant a further course of investigation, but not tonight. Maybe he'd have to rely on the amazing sleuthing skills of Marian Hawke again. Oh, how he's bloody looking forward to that.


	4. Fenris Plushies and an Anniversary

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Duel Soul, you know what you did. You beta-ed this didn't you?

AN: Just another heads-up - I'm not cheating you guys by submitting the same old chapter. I've added some stuff, so you might want to check out the first chappie. Or not. Whatever floats your boat.

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><p>Fenris had been waiting for three hours, and he wasn't prepared to wait any longer. Something <em>must<em> have happened to Marian. She'd never miss this for anything in the world. It was their unspoken promise every year, and no excuse will be justifiable enough to not remember tonight.

_She'd probably tripped herself into a gutter,_ he thought to himself as he grimly buckled his sword and left his mansion, winding a familiar route to her house. He would put past Hawke to do something stupid such as that. Sometimes he wondered if he was the designated nanny in the gang, always making sure that she didn't run into too much trouble.

Bodahn was crossing the foyer when he arrived. Without even bothering for niceties, he ground out: "Where's Hawke?"

The dwarf seemed perplexed at his sudden appearance, evidently trying hard to regain his usual butlery dignity while balancing a covered dish in one hand.

"Mistress Hawke and the younger Lady Hawke are currently entertaining a guest, Ser Fenris. If you'd care to wait, I can-"

A sudden burst of laughter floated out from the dining room. Without even looking at Bodahn, Fenris stalked towards its door, roughly wrenching it open as if it had done him a personal insult.

The sound of merry banter clattered to a stop as three pairs of eyes looked back at him.

"Fenris," Marian said, breaking the silence. "Fancy you being here. Would you care to join us? Sebastian was just telling us this amusing experience he had when he first joined the Chantry."

"I need to speak with you alone," he said. He didn't need excellent periphery vision to know that the archer's eyes narrowed dangerously at this.

"Very well. Excuse me," she said, getting up and – Fenris raised a vexed eyebrow at the sight – removing her hand from beneath Sebastian's.

He still had enough sense, however, to offer a curt nod towards Leandra and him before following Marian out of the room.

"What was that all about?" he hissed as she led him to the library.

"Hm? What was what about?"

"And what the seven hells is _that?"_ he asked in accusing tones, taking stock of her outfit for the first time.

"It's a dress, Fenris. In case you haven't got the memo circulating around, it's what girls wear," she said, settling down on the settee. "Oh, _do_ sit down. One might think I've committed a cardinal offense for being in a _dress_, judging from that expression on your face."

"You look…" Fenris trailed off, flailing about for a suitable word. The dress in itself was such a simple creation that it wasn't worth writing home about. Its light blue fabric looked well worn, and only a minimal amount of lace was evident on the bodice and sleeves. But what it lacked in style, it more than made up for the way it traced the treacherous slopes of Feminine Curves. Fenris decided there and then that dresses were specifically created to be a man's downfall, second only to the notorious Orlesian silk lacy undergarments. If Marian dared to look anymore alluring than now, then she should be arrested for indecent exposure.

"Like a woman," he finished lamely.

"I know. I check everyday, you see," she replied with a wry smile. "Now, what is it you want to talk about?"

"You've forgotten what today is."

She frowned at this. "Saturday. Why? It's not anyone's birthday, is it?"

"My anniversary…" he said, drawing out the last word meaningfully. It's been officially four years since he'd declared himself a free man and he'd made a point to celebrate it without fail. Marian had once jokingly mentioned that the first thing she'd do once she became the Viscountess was announce a public holiday on this day.

Realization dawned over the yawning chasm of her memory. She gaped, before scrunching her eyes shut in distress. "Shite," she ground out, wincing. "I'm very sorry, Fenris. I'm such a rotten friend for forgetting. Please don't hate me!"

"Of course I don't hate you. I've only been waiting for you since five thirty. The ice sculpture's all gone and melted by now."

"There's an ice-"

"No, Hawke. I was only jesting. You could've sent me a message, you know…say that you're entertaining tonight."

"I'll make it up to you, I promise. It's just that…Sebastian's been saying that he wants to meet my mother. And Mother's been pestering me to invite him over…so between arranging dinner and having him here, I just…forgot. It's not much of an excuse, isn't it?"

"Hm, meeting the future in-law, is he? He sure doesn't waste any time."

"In-law? What're you talking about? It's just dinner, Fenris."

"Oh, come on…you can't be that dense!" he suddenly snapped. "If not that, then what? He's here to spread the holy teachings of Andraste? Is there a private sermon going on that I don't know of?"

"Fenris, you're overreacting. You make it sound as if it's wrong for him to be here. So maybe he did leave some things..."

He caught the brief flicker of her eyes. The movement was slight, but he wasn't dubbed the undisputed Wicked Grace meister for no reason, second only to Isabela. He promptly got to his feet and went to the writing desk, casting his gaze over the usual work clutter, and all but pounced onto a guilty-looking piece of paper. It was a Chantry pamphlet with a cheery slogan at the front: _Andraste needs YOU! Join us for a free trip to salvation and biscuits!_

Holding it aloft like a criminal, he said: "Here to spread a little priestly love, eh?"

"They're just pamphlets. He said that I should pass them to everyone who comes over. Even encouraged me to attend some of their sermons. I found them a tad dry, though. Probably the only thing that I enjoyed was their hymns."

"He's trying to _convert _you?"

Marian took a moment to ponder over this. "Well, he never actually _said, _but…doesn't he do that to everyone including you?"

"And you're fine with that?"

"I wouldn't exactly say fine per se…but I guess I don't mind terribly so far. Why?"

"I just don't like the way he tries to _stuff_ his beliefs down our throats," he snarled, crumpling up the paper and tossing it disdainfully onto the desk. "Tch, Andraste this, Maker that. I was _this _close to running him through with my sword when he started yammering about Andraste's bloody 10 Commandments. Huh, _thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's possessions, _indeed. How can he say that with a straight face when he practically swooped down and snatched you away from m-" Fenris stopped himself, realizing his precarious Freudian slip. "From your duties," he muttered.

"What? That doesn't make any sense."

"Nevermind," he sighed, making a weary dismissive gesture with his hand. "Anyway, there's something else you need to know. I'm being _shadowed, _Hawke."

Marian froze. "Mercenaries?"

"No. I'm sure of that. It started last night when I was on my way back from the Hanged Man. Amateur thieves, by the looks of it. At least that's what I thought until I found _this_ on my doorstep this morning," he said, fumbling with something on his belt and tossing a hastily wrapped package towards her.

Giving her a moment to examine the contents of the bundle, he strode back to the settee. He settled down beside her and fixed her with his trademark intense gaze, ever watchful for her initial response. When it finally came, it took him completely by surprise. She'd gasped, before uttering a small delighted squeal.

"This is supposed to be you?" she asked, holding up the hideous felt doll. "He's _adorable! _Look, he's even got a tiny sword at the back."

"You actually _liked_ that atrocious thing?" he snarled. "It's disgusting! Whoever made it must've meant it as some sort of twisted joke."

It was, for want of a better description, an inexpertly made Fenris plushie. If the real Fenris were an 11-inch lump of knobbly stuffing held together by a swathe of furry material, then the creator of this masterpiece would've done a great job in making a good likeness of him. The only thing that was remotely identifiable to him was the armour costume. Take that off and it'll be just another child's rag doll. It seemed wrong in many levels, and if Fenris had to be a nitpicker about it, he'd start with the uneven stitches or the fact that _it shouldn't even be made in the first place. _To add insult to injury, the words 'Fenris Rocks My Socks' had been lovingly embroidered on the front of the doll's tunic.

"Oh, I absolutely agree with that," Marian said, eyes twinkling mischievously as she ran a finger over them. "Or rather, you once rocked it off, if I recall perfectly."

"You think this is funny, do you? Well, I am far from amused."

"That's nothing new. Remind me again why you're all worked up about this?"

"I left the house this morning and found _that,_ along with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates lying on my doorstep. My doorstep! Like…like an abandoned civilization of uselessness!"

"Someone's being sweet on you! I bet it's one of your fangirls. Or Orana. How can you not love something as adorable as this?"

"_You_ think _that_ is adorable?" Fenris ground out disbelievingly. He watched as Hawke – the very woman who'd ripped apart a trampling ogre with her bare hands just last week - gave that thing a cuddle. "And what do you mean by Orana?"

"At least it's better than the original. It doesn't talk back and it looks cute without even trying," she retorted. She made a show of arranging it between them before leaning back. "I think she's got a little crush on you. Every other day she'd ask me whether 'Ser Fenris' is dropping by or not. When I ask why, she'd blush and mumble something before running off."

For once, Fenris didn't have anything to say about this. It had never occurred to him that anyone or any species would find him attractive except for the common house cactus. He just couldn't understand this sudden influx of attention he's been getting. It seemed as if the grouchier he became, the more women are falling over themselves to declare their undying devotion towards him. It's uncanny…a mind-boggling conundrum which had kept him awake for most nights just thinking about it (Hawke doesn't count, because she'd somehow become a staple resident in his subconscious, not that he'd ever admit it out loud unless under heavy influence of alcohol).

"Well," he said in awkward tones, "good for her, then."

Marian chuckled. "That's it? Gosh, you sure do know how to let a girl down gently."

Fenris looked at her, and this time he _really_ looked. _This is it, _he thought. The cue for the big apology scene. This was the moment where he said to her all the lines he'd been rehearsing to himself in his dreams. He'd say it with such sweet honesty that she was moved to tears and decided to dump that blasted pillock Sebastian on the spot. Just as the weeping Chantry boy were running off to the nearest exit, they'd both rush upstairs for a series of loud make-up sex. So loud, in fact, that it frightens the neighbours.

Three years without sex was no bloody joke. He felt like a coiled up spring, and he could sense the dark waves of tension poised over him, ready to crash the moment he chose to pounce over her and tear that sensible dress away from her. He honestly couldn't imagine how Sebastian could get by all this time. His little member had probably shriveled up and fallen off, having given up all hope of ever rescuing mankind's population from extinction.

He leaned forward, took the surprised Marian by both hands and breathed deeply as the first syllables of her name began to form on his lips.

_Marian, I was wrong. I still love you…please forgive me. Marian, I was wrong-_

"There you are. You mother was wondering what happened to you."

_Blast. _

Enter the lumbering protozoan of a boyfriend.

There was a trace of guilt on her face, yet Marian smoothed it over with one of her easygoing smiles as she got up, effectively sliding out of his touch. Sebastian was standing at the door, his posture clearly showing that he had witnessed their little scene before his timely interruption.

"Fenris and I were just wrapping things up," she said, walking towards him. "I'm sorry I abandoned you, Sebastian. I'm _such_ a terrible hostess, am I? Let's see if I can remedy that later over coffee and dessert." Gently taking his arm, she went on: "I still haven't heard the ending of your story just now. You're not allowed to leave until you've told me the whole thing all over again."

He smiled down at her, giving her a genial bow as he replied, "But of course, Marian." Like an inevitable continental drift, his eyes traveled back towards Fenris.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Fenris," said Marian. "Your stalkers, I mean. I'll personally find out who they are, I promise."

"I know you will," the elf replied.

"Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped phasing through walls to get in here. The look on Bodahn's face was funny for the first few times, but it's starting to make me worry he'd get a heart attack from your sudden appearances."

"Doors are put there for a reason, you know," said Sebastian.

Fenris gave him a nonchalant half-shrug. "What can I say? I like the element of surprise."

"Well, I'd better make sure Orana didn't accidently blow up the coffee. She does that sometimes. Excuse me," Marian said, hurrying off.

She had no way of knowing this, but her innocuous act of leaving had effectively put two men on very friendly terms all alone in a room together. Sebastian all but glared at Fenris, who'd matched it with an insolent stare of his own. The crackle of the fireplace served only to accentuate the silence going on between them.

For those with an eye for the narrative irony, they would've relished the idea of a white prince clashing wills with the dark knight. If this was a classic Western standoff, someone would've said 'This town ain't big enough for the two of us' as tumbleweeds roll past, and the frightened peasants would scramble over themselves trying to empty the streets.

Finally Fenris ground out: "You know I can't read minds, Sebastian."

"What are you playing at?"

"I should ask you the same thing. Aren't you breaking some sort of Chantry law, going after Hawke like this?"

"I have nothing but honest intentions towards her, if you must know."

Fenris couldn't help but chuckle sardonically at this. "What, ask her to get into a chaste marriage for the sake of the Chantry? Hah, yes. I can definitely see that working in the long run. Definitely a tale worthy enough to tell the grandchildren – oh, wait…you're not having any. My apologies."

"I don't see how you could get yourself worked up about this. It's not like you have any claim on her-"

"And you think you do?"

"I happen to know what she wants."

"What's that? Midnight sonnets in the garden? Rose petals on her bed? Half a kingdom for her to do as she sees fit?"

"Someone she can rely on at all times."

"Figured that one out all by yourself, did you? I hope you didn't strain yourself much."

Sebastian's expression hardened at this. "At least I didn't run to the hills during a time where it matters most to her."

Fenris was on his feet and advancing towards the archer before he'd even realized what he was doing. "You know nothing about what happened between us, so don't even pretend that you do!" he snarled, brandishing a finger at him like a spear.

"I don't have to. Looking at her tells me everything I need to know. I'm giving up my brotherhood once I've officially taken up my duties in Starkhaven. Although I find it ironic to be sharing my plans with _you_ of all people, but just so that we're both on the same page, I fully intend to marry her as well…and believe me when I say it'll be anything _but_ a chaste one."

The elf grunted. "Trust me, Sebastian. When it comes to Hawke, I'm always three chapters ahead of you," he said, roughly brushing past the man.

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><p>Nest episode: A brother's thought process<p> 


	5. A Pensive Brother

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Duel Soul, thanks for doing what you did.

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><p>It was too late to be night, yet too early to be morning. Time stood on the precarious balance of darkness and light, a situation where Sebastian precisely found himself at the moment.<p>

He'd been staring at Andraste's portrait hung at the end of his bed for hours now, silently beseeching her for an answer. He may be a Chantry lay brother, yet there was still a pragmatic side of him which pointed out that no amount of holy thoughts could prevent a healthy, fully functional lad to think in ways only a lad could.

Accepting that fact had been such a relief to him. He was human, and a greatly flawed one. Take it or leave it. There's no point in racking up brownie points with the Maker if even He can't make a few allowances for him.

Blame it on Isabela and the nude statue of Andraste. Ugh, the damnable woman. Months ago they'd been at the Black Emporium with Hawke when the pirate secretly beckoned him over with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Looks like her, no?" she said in a hushed whisper.

"What looks like who?" he'd asked.

With a giggle, she motioned towards the statue. "Doesn't Andraste remind you of someone? I mean, no disrespect to your religion or anything, but…if you look carefully, you have to admit she _does_ bear some resemblance towards a certain intrepid leader of ours…?"

He frowned. "I don't think that's-"

"Oh, shush. Must you get shirty over every joke we make about Andraste? Besides, don't tell me you haven't had a single dirty thought about Marian? You know there's a certain appeal about a woman on top who tells you everything you should do. Here, I bet their tits're the same size-"

Before he could argue, Isabela grabbed his hand and placed it over one of the statue's breasts.

"Go on, then. Give her a good squeeze," she cackled.

The man was mortified. He should be struck dead on the spot because of this transgression! Only Isabela could think of way to desecrate Andraste that way. Blushing furiously, he removed his hand and stalked off, vowing to give the pirate a proper piece of his mind once he'd fished out all the swear words.

But the idea had already been set. There wasn't a moment afterwards when he'd prayed towards Andraste's image without seeing Her morph into someone else. It even got to the point where he prayed with his eyes shut, but that only served to make the visions more vivid. It was getting more difficult to think of Her as his Bride when there's another likeness walking beside him, breathing and smelling in a way that made him insane.

Maker's hell, he's really a thrice damned man now. Maybe a long overdue holiday will help clear his mind somewhat.

There was no doubt that he loved Marian. He might as well be blunt about it, since covering it up only served to make it obvious in front of the rest of his friends. He knew that she felt the same way, but there were times when he caught that faraway look in her eyes that made him entertain an un-brotherly thought of strangling a certain pigheaded elf to death. Fenris had cruelly kept her prisoner, and he had no intention of letting her go. While it's true that the Chantry could exorcize demons, there's no way it could exorcize the painful presence of a past love.

Maker knew he had his own share of…escapades. There was even a tattoo to commemorate the event, with a woman's name that was entirely not Marian's. Already he was making discreet enquiries to Varric on how he could go about to getting rid of it…short of cutting away his skin or anything quite as painful.

He'd never force Marian, of course…but by allowing him to kiss her would automatically mean that they're together. That's how the technicalities of a relationship should work…right? Granted, this came from an ex-playboy prince, thus a mere smooch doesn't hold enough weight than say, a full-blown fourth base session. But he was prepared to take this one step at a time. Marian was a woman worth wooing with full panache. None of that cheesy pickup lines, too. Maker, the things he'd said just to get a girl during his stupid younger days was enough to make him wince now.

He'd got it all planned up in his mind:

1- Gently soothe her wounded heart;

2- Shoot Fenris down should he dare interfere;

3- Once she's in a suitable mood, drop subtle hints about relocating (ie: 'So…how'd you feel about owning a castle? Two, in fact…but the other one's just a summer home, so it's considerably smaller.)

He nodded to himself. It wasn't much, nor terribly detailed…but perhaps this was the answer he'd been looking for after all. Smiling at Andraste, he mouthed a silent 'Thank you.'

Maybe it was his imagination, but for a moment there he believed he saw Her smile back.

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><p>AN: A simple, 3-step plan to get the girl of your dreams. Shouldn't be that hard for the guys, no?<p> 


	6. Crampons Are A Girl's Best Friend

Dragon Age series and all its characters belong to Bioware.

Many thanks to Duel Soul for beta-ing.

AN: When Marian thought that Seneschal Bran had a similar voice to Sebastian, I'm alluding to the fact that both characters were voiced by the same voice actor.

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><p>"Nucking fugs!"<p>

Marian decided the best time to practice ladylike swearing was when she's dangling over a sheer drop while the vicious Kirkwall sea breeze buffeted her like a sail. Possibly the only thing preventing her from being bosom buddies with the rocks below was a set of very expensive crampons and climbing gloves. Thank you Tomwise and your contraband goods. It was money well spent, and she was glad she took his advice – for she was extremely fond of her life at the moment.

As she gradually inched her way to the next window, she wondered about who she hated the most: Fenris, Seneschal Bran or the entire Hightown Bloody Homeowners Association.

Despite numerous invites, she never wanted to attend any of their meetings. They're nothing but a circus of pompous nobles finding an excuse to complain how deplorable their lives were.

Argh, her left crampon was stuck. She tried to jimmy it out and was awarded with the scrape of mortar as it finally slid out. But it came off too fast that she almost lost her balance.

"Sunshine and butterflies!"

But her mother had come home one day and mentioned that the Association had petitioned for one of the houses in Hightown to be repossessed, considering the fact that its previous owner had passed without an heir and the place had been abandoned for years. Marian had no issue with that initially, until she found out that the house in question was Fenris's.

She'd tried to warn the elf, but he took it rather too calmly for her liking. She wasn't even sure if 'calm' was the correct word to use, considering the way he held his sword and mention that he'll give a warm welcome to anyone who came and tried to take over the mansion.

Feeling worried for him, she offered her place for him to move in. Maker knew there were plenty of rooms in the estate begging to be occupied. But he'd declined, snidely commenting that her 'darling' Sebastian would mind. _Of course he wouldn't mind,_ she'd said. He'll understand once she'd explained the situation to him. But with a final shake of his head, Fenris had made his answer very clear.

She'd gone home fuming later that night. Of all the times to be stubborn! If it's personal space he's worried about, then the damned estate was big enough for them to practically live on opposite sides of the continent! He was by far one of the most frustrating men she'd ever known, and yet she still found herself bending over backwards trying to make him happy. And for what? An acerbic persona with not so much as a hint of appreciation?

"Winged Victory of Samothrace!"

She paused, her leather armour creaking as she assessed her situation. Only a few feet more. Come on, Hawke!

She didn't even bother with the Homeowners committee members. Instead, she went straight for the head: Seneschal Bran. There was one best way to describe that man, and it was this: if he wasn't responsible for the Ku Klux Klan, then he certainly wrote the manifesto that started one. She knew he knew about Fenris, and it didn't take much mental arithmetic to see that he wasn't too happy about having a free elf squatting in Hightown.

That damned man had brought this upon himself. Two can have a go at playing silly buggers, and she'll hit him up rogue style. First, she'll find that signed petition and _burn _it. Mess around with her best friend, eh? Well, no more inviting you over for tea, Seneschal Bran. Hah!

Finally she reached his office window ledge. Luckily for her, he was a fresh air addict, thus his window was always open even on the windiest of days. She lithely hopped inside, pausing only to listen for guards patrolling outside.

The coast was clear so far. She worked quickly, taking off her crampons and climbing gloves and putting them inside the sack she'd brought with her. Then she lit a candle, scanning the Seneschal's desk for the petition. It took a bit of rooting, but she managed to find it…wedged between the Keep's monthly expenditures report and the staff's personal records.

She was about to leave when her rogue instincts kicked in and she began a new search through his drawers. That man can't possibly get to where he was without acquiring some embarrassing secrets himself. Let's see…where would a bigoted bastard keep his flaming pitchforks and giant banners that said 'Outsiders Out!'?

Her clever fingers skimmed along the backside of his bookshelf, and found something which made her very happy for at least two minutes.

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><p>Seneschal Bran smiled the moment he entered the Blooming Rose. Madam Lusine, however, did not. That man had been making rather…outlandish requests of late, and while she was usually more than happy to accommodate her clients' needs, he was known to scare away some of the girls with his strange perversions.<p>

"Evenin' Seneschal Bran," she said, as he signed his name on the guest book. Always using a different alias, the bastard…and there's nothing she could do about it, considering the amount of money he's been dangling before her nose every night. "I take it you want your usual?"

"Surprise me, Madam," he said, leaning against the bar top and scanning the area with an almost predatory glance.

With a slight motion from her, one of the girls went over and brought him up to his usual room.

He frowned when he saw no one there. Turning around to berate the girl, his face collided with a fist and the next time he blinked, he found himself lying spreadeagled on the bed with his feet and wrists tied to the bedposts. A lewd grin slowly spread across his face. Ah, so it's Idunna tonight. She'd always had a penchant for roughness. Anytime now she'll step into the room and say-

"Venereal disease is a funny thing."

He craned his neck around. That wasn't her voice. Someone else was in the room with him, someone who's seated on a chair beside the bed while thumbing through a very familiar looking notebook.

"It scrambles your brain in the end," the person said. "Which is precisely why I never go here."

"Hawke," he growled. "What is the meaning of all this?"

"This is one of your favourite fantasies, is it not?" she asked, feigning innocence. "It said so in this sex diary of yours. The things you put in here – whoah! Some of them make me blush. Imagine me, blushing!"

"All right. I know this game. How much do you want?"

"Seneschal Bran, I'm terribly insulted. I thought we're good friends, what with us being neighbours and all. I actually _like_ you, you know. I mean, I _swear _I've heard your voice on someone else before. Can you say 'Andraste's flaming knickers' for me, please?"

The man frowned. "Oh, I can think of a lot of other things to say to you right now, and none of them are polite. Do you honestly think you can get away with this farce?"

"Hang on, hang on. It says here you like it when your girls talk dirty to you." Marian sucked in an apprehensive breath as she got to her feet. "I've never actually done this myself…so here goes-"

"What in Maker's name-?"

"You're a lowly scum of the Free Marches! You need to clean your shoes more often! There…how's that for dirty? Ugh, I need Merrill for these things. The stuff that comes out from her mouth is unbelievable sometimes!"

"Hawke, your joke has gone far enough. Untie me at once!"

"Ah, so you want to get into the serious bits now? Alright…" She draped herself over the edge of the bed, seeming for all the world as if she was snuggling up to him. With an exaggerated flourish, she held up his 'diary'.

"Let's see…" she said, "Two weeks ago you've started asking for young boys, namely elven ones…but the description's always the same: Not a day past their tenth birthdays, blond and they must be dressed like a baby doll-" at this point, she put down the notebook with a sigh. "Really now…if you want boys dressed up as girls, why can't you just ask for a _real_ girl? I don't understand these strange fetishes you men have sometimes."

"Is there a point to this?" Seneschal Bran said through gritted teeth.

"I know prostitution is not illegal here, but romping around with underaged boys? Tsk, tsk…what a naughty man you are. I'm sure even the Viscount would have something to say about this…or Aveline for that matter. And what about your precious Homeowners Association? Would they still want you as their chairman once they find out you like playing with elves?"

"This is about that renegade slave Fenris, isn't it? I knew you would-"

"_Ex-_slave, if you don't mind. He's a stickler for small details, and he wouldn't appreciate you missing that one point."

"What makes you think the Viscount would even care about one elf? A word from me, and you won't even have a _chance _of seeing him, much less present your so-called evidence to him."

"How small minded of you. Who says I'm showing this to him straight away? I'm planning to have a bit of fun first. Besides, he may not care. But _I_ do, and if that man had any sense at all, he'll remember that he owes me certain favours. Now, what shall I do with you, hm…?"

"Drop the act and just tell me what you want, Hawke!"

"The deeds to Fenris's mansion under my name. And a written assurance that you'll never bother him in any way ever. If I find out you're still giving him trouble, you'll get educated on why it's always a good idea to be chummy with rogues. Understand?"

"You think I can just pull out a deed from my boots? There's paperwork, and-"

"Miracles are known to happen, Seneschal Bran…especially when one's desperate enough to keep an embarrassing secret from going public. So tell me: are you desperate? I'd have to work harder if you're not. Let's see…where that bit about the transvestite Templar and a rolling pin…?"

"Enough! I'll do it. But you'll have to wait at least a week for me to-"

"Tut tut…not good enough. Get it done in three days."

"Hawke, that's impossible!"

"Then _make _it possible. That's what the Viscount paid you to do, right? Oh, do please say yes. Otherwise we'd be here the whole night and I wouldn't want Madam Lusine to start getting the wrong ideas."

Seneschal Bran let out a shuddering sigh, his nostrils flaring in anger. How he'd love to tear away from his restraints and launch himself over Hawke, choking the very life out of her.

"You'll never hear the end if this," he vowed.

"So we're in total agreement, then?" Marian brightly asked. "Good. You'll see me in your office again soon enough."

With that, she gave an affectionate pat on his cheek and got to her feet. His notebook, he sourly noted, disappeared somewhere in her person…and it seemed highly likely he won't be seeing it again anytime soon. She walked with an unmistakable bounce in her steps, pausing at the far end of the bed only to say: "Hey, try saying 'Maker, no!' just once."

"HAWKE!" he bawled, his self-control finally snapping as he strained to free himself. Marian escaped the room giggling with his rants pelting off her back.

"Definitely sounded like Sebastian," she said to herself as she jogged downstairs, tossing Madam Lusine a meaningful wink as she left the place.

* * *

><p>She found Aveline waiting for her the minute she reached home. Her light mood soured somewhat at the Guard Captain's dour expression. She briefly wondered if this was about her break-in activities less than three hours ago.<p>

"Aveline," Marian nodded as she beckoned them into the library.

"Hawke," came the guard captain's curt reply. "I shall get straight to the point-"

"What, no tea and nibbles and a bit of a laugh as we reminisce the good old days first?" she asked, settling down onto the settee.

Aveline treated her with one of her stern looks. "What can you tell me about this 'Give Fenris His Hawke' group? They're practically all over Lowtown and Darktown, yet _none_ of my men have seen hide nor hair of a single member."

"Have you checked the Alienage? Best place for anyone to go incognito."

"And haul an entire community of elves over to my office for questioning? I think not!"

"Ah, yes. Bugger that. Look, I think they're just a harmless group of fans intent on spreading a bit of Fenris-ism. You should've seen some of the paintings they've come up with, Aveline. I mean…they're so good that I'm seriously considering commissioning them for my official portraits. Of course, they'd have to do me in clothes. And preferably without Fenris on top of me. Or bottom. Or even sideways. Ahem, I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Quite. Reports have come in _suggesting_ that he'd raised a cadre of supporters to help him lead an elven revolt. Hawke, you do realize that word gets around. Kirkwall can't afford to have another possible threat, what with the Arishok already breathing down our necks. With his well-publicized association with you, _your_ reputation will be dragged through the mud as well."

"Oh, come on. Fenris can't rally a family of _mice_ even if he wanted to! You know he's the straightforward point-him-in-the-right-direction-and-he'll-kill-everything-that-moves kind of person. He's got a face that makes babies cry. I practically had to be his advertising agent just so he could get freelance jobs on his own!"

"Have you been to Lowtown recently? Maybe a leisurely stroll over there will prove just how wrong you are."

"Maybe I shall. I've been missing the smell of unbridled squalor for quite a while now."

"And while you're there, try asking about the trail of Coterie members who were found dead in Hightown."

* * *

><p>Next episode: Kirkwall's Playgirl Playmate calendar series<p> 


	7. Midday Seaside Romp A Mobbing Incident

Dragon Age series and its characters belong to Bioware.

Thanks to Duel Soul, this story is beta-ed.

AN: This chapter's inspired by a fanmade DA-verse calendar I found in DeviantArt. Lewd images sold separately. You have to insert them yourself.

* * *

><p>"Dead?" said Fenris, frowning as he digested this latest nugget of information.<p>

"Mm-hm," hummed Marian. She was lying on her back with her arms pillowing her head, her hood pulled over her eyes to shield them from the harsh glare of the open sky. She was like a cat enjoying the midday sun, her bare feet half-buried in the white sands of the Wounded Coast. Fenris noted her red painted toenails, and attributed them to Merrill before suddenly wondering why he'd notice minute details like that.

He cast his gaze towards the waves breaking over the reef. It's been less than twelve hours since Aveline's visit, and Marian had brought him along on a recon mission to scout out a supposed rumour of missing Qunari delegates. They found nothing and was about to head back to the city when Marian was struck by a sudden fancy to deviate.

Ten minutes later found them at one of the Coast's deserted beaches, a significant patch of undergrowth lining the edges providing not only protection from enemy sight but much-needed shade as well.

She'd taken off her boots and frolicked about in the water with her Mabari hound, frowning only at Fenris's stubborn refusal to join her.

"Apparently you've managed to chalk up a number of body counts _without doing anything," _she said. "Corpses just magically appear from the Hanged Man to your home, and when I say magic, I don't mean the sparkly fingers 'Abracadabra' variety. At first I thought it was just a gang fight, but Aveline's convinced otherwise. Maker, how I'd _love_ to prove her wrong for once."

Fenris nodded, a familiar prickling at the back of his neck suddenly distracting him. He glared at the shuddering patch of bushes to their left, hands twitching towards his sword as his lips prepared to shout a warning at Marian.

She went on, oblivious to what was going on: "I don't get it, Fenris. Those people practically did us a favour. What's a few lesser thugs to us, huh? At least I sleep better at night knowing someone else is doing me favour cleaning up the town…saving Varric's presence, of course."

Her damned mutt had long disappeared, lured away by crabs. No point in counting on him to arrive on time should anything happen. A trail of disturbance moved along the same bushes, as if something short was running beneath the leaves. There was a flash of light at one end, followed by the thumps of bodies falling and a string of muffled curses. Fenris immediately snatched his sword and got up to his feet, readying himself into a fighter's stance.

"You know what annoyed me, though?" said Marian. "It's Aveline _insinuating_ that you've got some sort of secret army to your beck and call, ready to start an elven riot. I mean, she'd rather believe her men's reports than asking you herself? She's known you for years! Don't tell me she still doesn't trust you!"

His acute hearing caught snatches of hushed conversation carried over in the wind.

"…_sure th….the whole lot?"_

"…_dal got the last."_

"_Enchantment?"_

"_Why does he keep saying that?"_

"_Enchantment!" _

"_Listen, if it wasn't for him, we'd be knee deep in Tal-Vashoth doodoo back there…so you'd better shake his hand and thank him for saving your bloody life." _

"_I want some pie."_

"_Alright, we've downed every last blighter. It's time we scurry off."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because, my ignorant friend, in case you haven't noticed…Fenris is onto us."_

Sure enough, the elf was advancing towards the talking bushes with his sword drawn. Marian had only realized he was gone when she heard the crunch of his footsteps and leafy protests as he pounced over the foliage.

"Fenris?" she said, hurriedly getting to her feet and unsheathing her daggers.

His voice floated back, sounding very thoughtful. "Hawke, I think you should see this."

The minute she joined him, she felt her jaw drop at the sight of dead Raider members scattered over the sand. Two of them had been transformed into dripping ice statues, an expression of surprise etched clearly over their faces as they posed in mid-leap. Whatever happened to them, happened so fast that they barely had time to react.

In the horrified silence that followed, Marian found herself meeting Fenris's gaze and they nodded an unspoken agreement.

"I think," she said, swallowing hard, "It's about time we go see Varric about this."

* * *

><p>Sebastian carefully regarded the graffiti. It was rather crudely done, but the message was clear enough: <em>Give Fenris His Hawke.<em> So now half the city were conspiring to bring her and that elf together, eh?

"That's why we haven't been bringing you to Lowtown lately, Choir Boy."

With a sigh, he turned away from the wall. "I'm not a child, Varric. I'd find out sooner or later."

"Just so you know, Hawke's totally against this whole thing. She was like: _Why mess around with Broody, when I have Sebby?_ Ooh, she's a winner, that girl."

"You don't have to make it sound nicer for me," said Sebastian as they began winding their way through Lowtown's marketplace. "I may be cloistered up in the Chantry, but I still know what's going on. Why, just this morning I caught a group of lay sisters giggling over a poster of Fenris when they really should be revising their psalms."

Varric shrugged. "What can I say? One needs to be inspired in order to be pious."

"Do not jest about these things, Varric. They've made light of their duties, thus they were sent off to do penance after a severe telling off by Elthina."

"They're just _fans,_ Choir Boy. It's not like they thumb their noses at Andraste or anything like that. They're just expressing a healthy admiration towards Fenris, that's all." A thought suddenly crossed Varric's mind. "Wait: you're not actually…jealous, are you?"

"Jealous? Of what? Him being popular? What utter nonsense!"

Fenris's popularity was hardly surprising, considering that the elf was really the most eye-catching male member of the gang. Factor in his angsty persona and fashionable hair, then they'll get a very interesting equation indeed. Sebastian wasn't blind to the hungry looks women had been giving him everytime he walked into a room. Nevermind the fact that he was an elf. That alone was strangely enough to amp up his desirability factor by several notches.

Compared to him, Sebastian was vanilla. He was the quintessential good guy doomed from the beginning to be the best friend who'll never get to shag the girl of his dreams, simply because she was too hung up over her shitty scum boyfriend. Alright, maybe it's because he was under strict Chantry vows, but the bedroom action forecast still remained the same: constant dry spell with no sign of wild bonking.

An obscene smile spread over the dwarf's face as he waggled a finger playfully at Sebastian. "You _are_ jealous! Who would've thought? You _obviously_ haven't seen the fan art calendars these people have been making. From what I heard, they've been selling like hot cakes. Why, I was lucky enough to get several copies of my own."

"What calendars?"

Varric pulled out a rolled-up object from somewhere within his person and passed it to Sebastian.

"It's a tribute to Ferelden's heroes and all the people Hawke's been traveling with all these years," he explained. "They did a really good likeness of me, but I daresay I like yours better. You're Ser Harvestmere."

Sebastian flipped through the pages with increasing consternation as his eyes were assaulted by what seemed to be images of lascivious intent. He caught a glimpse of Varric in his complete chest hair glory reclining over red satin sheets and hurriedly moved on. There was even one on King Alistair, although he was positive the monarch would have a thing or two to say about his blatant lack of clothing. For a man used to the art of Chantry stained glass windows and paintings saturated with religious content, this calendar was nothing more than a catalogue of visual porn.

He finally reached Harvestmere and his eyes bulged at what he saw. It was him, alright, in full Adonis glory as he struck a rather heroic pose with his bow and arrow. This was Cupid minus the kiddie diapers, and that was fine in itself. If he was being honest (and he usually does), then he'd say that the artist had managed to capture his very essence of righteous intent. It's just that…if he were to step out dressed like he did in the painting, then he'd catch a cold straight away.

"_Starkhaven stallion?"_ he said in incredulous tones as he read out the caption beneath. "_The archer who never misses his target. _Why do I have a feeling that this is said in a wink-wink-nudge-nudge way?"

"I didn't know there's any other way to say it," said Varric, his expression positively cherubic. "Fenris is Ser Haring. Save the best for last…no offence to you. Would you like to see…?"

"No," Sebastian said firmly as he thrust back the calendar towards the dwarf. "I've had enough."

"They've even got one on the girls…a special Orlesian lingerie edition. I believe it's called Andraste's Secret. Try to guess which month Hawke's at," Varric said, elbowing him in the ribs…but due to their height difference, it ended up at the prince's thigh instead. "I'm telling you, Choir Boy, some of those paintings're good enough to give you nosebleeds."

"Do not tempt me with such things!" Sebastian said with as much vehemence a fully-grown man could muster while blushing like a virgin on his wedding night.

"Hmph, suit yourself. I've got a whole stack in my room if you want to take a quick peek. You gotta admit: ladies love their bad boys, and Fenris is more than happy to deliver. What about you, huh? Did you manage to get Hawke to melt into your arms with your passionate whispers of the Maker's righteous will? Please don't tell me you're gonna propose her with this chaste marriage thing I've been hearing about."

"So what if I am? If that's what she wants, then who're you to stop her?"

"I _know _that. But clearly you don't know her as well as you should. There she is, being strung along by Fenris until you step in, and the best that you can offer her is a sexless union? You might as well turn yourself into a eunuch, because the end result's still the same. Think about her _needs, _Choir Boy."

"I hardly think that sex is the only thing she wants, Varric," Sebastian said peevishly.

"No, what I really mean is…" Varric paused, his hands making vague motions in the air as he tried to make his point. "Surprise her with picnic dates, you serenading her from her balcony, sappy poems stuffed inside her backpack…all that romantic stuff. Don't tell me you don't know the steps of this dance, for I am fully aware of your chandelier swinging days."

"Those days are gone now. It is no longer a part of my life."

"Oh, will you stop talking like a 60-year-old codger? There must be a Starkhaven stallion bit left in you, I'm sure of it. Huh, you say lying is sin, yet here you are…lying through your teeth. No wonder Anders thought you're a hypocrite."

"You would take the word of an apostate and use it against me?" Sebastian said, his temper flaring.

"Would it make any difference if he's a Templar?" shot back Varric, unfazed by the man's tone. "Look, what's important isn't what he is. Think about what he said for a minute, and I dare you to say he was wrong. Go on."

Sebastian pressed his mouth shut in a fit of sullen silence. Of _course_ he wasn't lying! He just…misrepresented the facts a little bit, so there. They're necessary to protect others from the truth. Technically they're lies, but – oh Maker, why was he still going round and round over this?

"Fine," he finally said. "Maybe he was, in some remote way, right. So what's your point?"

"My point is it's about time you sat down with Hawke and talk about how the both of you want this thing to go. I'm just the observant wingman, but I'm pretty sure she wants something more than to be a Chantry sister. Does Kirkwall Viscountess ring any loud bells for you?"

Sebastian frowned. "She can be both! I don't see how – what?"

Varric had sighed. "There goes Leandra's dream of ever becoming a grandmother. Listen, while it's fine that you've impressed her mother, there's also another person you should get to know as well…and believe me when I say it'll score you _many_ approval points with Hawke if you can get along with her."

"Who?"

"Bethany, her sister."

"You mean, the one who got sent to the Circle?"

"The one and only. Try and pay her a visit someday. And leave your 'Ooh, mages are bad mojo' mindset at the door when you do. She's really the sweetest thing you'll ever meet. Hawke would never admit this, but I know she's been seeing her every chance she's got. They're really close, much closer than Carver ever was."

"How come you know so many things about her?"

"It's because I took the _time_ to get to know her. Now don't get me wrong. It's fine and all that you worship Andraste…but Hawke's a living, breathing woman with womanly needs. It'll take more than religion to drive your relationship with her. It's still not too late for you, you know. There are just a few things you need to do to tip the scales further towards your favour."

"That's easier said than done, Varric. Everyone knows she has hopes for Fenris. How can I make any difference when half her soul still belongs to him? Huh, the Maker'd sooner drop her from the sky before she'd ever confess her true love to me."

There was a pitter-patter of footsteps overhead and several loose roof tiles slipped away and fell, smashing onto the packed earth beneath. Sebastian and Varric only heard a brief yell of "Heads up!" when an elephant landed on the Starkhaven heir's back.

"Oof!"

At least that's what he thought when he dropped to the ground, all the wind knocked out of him. He quickly struggled to push himself up, a few Andraste-friendly curses flitting through his mind towards the person who made him eat dirt. He twisted himself around, ready to berate the figure squatting beside him when he stopped, recognizing her mischievous blue eyes.

"In case I don't make it out alive," Marian giggled.

"Maker, Marian," he panted. "What-"

She kissed him.

Sebastian was struck dead on the spot. Anything, he thought, give him the worst possible situation he could be in and he'd gladly die a happy man. Rampaging bronto? Fine. A swampful of crazed blood mages? Bring it on. He'd endure all of that with a smile on his face after experiencing a kiss so intense, so full of oomph such as the one he was having now. It completely blew away all the other tame smooches they've been sharing before this out of the water.

_Blessed be to the Maker, and His bride Andraste,_ he thought to himself as she grabbed his face with both hands in an attempt to pin him on the spot. He suddenly felt like a bumbling teenager once more, one who was discovering the wonders of tasting a girl for the first time. Maker, has it really been that long?

The confessional booth will never hear of this, he vowed to himself. Not even when he's put under duress or made to dance over hot coal. Whatever impure thoughts he had about this woman, he'll keep it to himself and treasure it with every fibre of his being.

She finally pulled away, gently nipping his lower lip as she looked at him with the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.

"I love you, Sebastian," she smiled.

Somewhere far away, possibly in another continent, Varric let out an amused chuckle. "Talk about express delivery," he said. "If the Maker really works this fast, consider me a Chantry convert!"

A familiar gruff voice joined him: "What are you doing, Hawke? We need to go!"

She paused in her act of nuzzling her nose with Sebastian's and looked up at something behind him. Her smile dimmed a shade as she quickly got to her feet.

"Marian, what's the matter?" The words were barely out of Sebastian's mouth when he heard the commotion. Looking around, he saw a group of women heading towards them, shrieking all the way like doomsday banshees. There can't possibly be a darkspawn raid, for the ones who weren't too busy smiling were either swooning onto the wayside or fighting each other. "Are they after you?" he asked, standing up.

Grabbing Fenris's arm, she pulled him towards the opposite direction. "Come on. We need to get back to Hightown. Toodle-loo, love!"

He watched as the two of them pounded down the street, leaping over carts and dodging through the crowd before they finally clambered up a wall to get to the rooftops. He sidestepped just in time to see those ladies streak past, his eardrums halfway to bursting from their screams:

"There he is!"

"Fenris, I want your babies!"

"Did you like my plushie?"

"_Oh my Maker, he's so STEAMY!"_

He could feel his hair and clothes being caught into their slipstream. Lucky thing Merrill wasn't with them, otherwise the waifish elf would be dragged along in the current and it'd be up to him and Varric to save her from being trampled to death by Fenris's fangirls.

They disappeared as suddenly as they appeared, leaving both of them in a cloud of fine dust and frenzied female hormones.

Sebastian was the first one to break the silence.

"So," he rasped, coughing slightly. "Starkhaven stallion, eh?"

* * *

><p>Next episode: The Bad Poet, the Circle and the Mabari<p>

I realize that given the era Dragon Age is set in, they don't have the technology to print out batches of glossy HD paintings ala Exotique. At the very least, they have to be content with those woodcut illustrations...buuut for the sake of Fenris's fangirls, let's just assume they have a way to circle around that minor hiccup. Seriously, can anyone be turned on by woodcut images?


	8. The Reluctant Champion and Her Portrait

AN: I think I got dumped. By my own beta. She's either busy with her uni work, or she was creeped off by my offers of buying her a froyo. Dammit, I knew I shouldn't lie about liking yogurt. As it were, these following chapters are not beta-ed. As for the inspiration for the Ferelden heroes calendar (previous chapter) I finally found her again. She's enerjak, and you can find her in deviantArt. Check out her Sassy Gay Hawke comic, and the video somebody else did out of it in Youtube. You'll die laughing and you'll love her to bits.

Bioware owns Dragon Age series. David Gaider wrote most of its characters. This chapter has a brief nod towards Drizzt Do'Urden from The Forgotten Realms, the father of all badass elves and drows.

* * *

><p>Today was the day Fenris got some answers. Being ambushed by rabid girls on his way to the Hanged Man wasn't an experience he'd want to relive once more. That had severely limited his excursions to Lowtown, and he wasn't too happy about it.<p>

He _enjoyed_ the bar's heady _eau de toilette_ of stale ale, sweat and vomit. He liked rubbing shoulders with the friendly local folk. They're the salt of the earth; a collection of atrocious personal hygiene habits walking around on two unwashed feet. But they were _Lowtown_ people…and you have to have a bit of pride on where you came from no matter how scummy it was. Even now he would recall the fond memories he had with Danarius and a happy tear will form in the corner of one eye.

Marian settled down opposite Sandal and tried to give him a reassuring smile.

"Sandal," she said, "can you tell us where you were yesterday morning?"

The young dwarf looked back at the three people surrounding him, confusion clouding his face. Bodahn anxiously hovered nearby, unsure of his mistress's sudden need to question his son about his recent activities.

"She smells like cinnamons," Sandal said as a way of explaining.

"Bodahn, was he ever out of the mansion yesterday?" Marian asked.

"No, milady. He was here as always. Why do you ask?"

"This can't be right," Fenris growled, pointing towards Sandal. "I distinctively heard him at the Wounded Coast!"

"Whoa whoa, Drizzt Do'Urden," said Varric, pulling down the elf's arm upon seeing Sandal's cowed expression. "Let's keep the scary face for when we're interviewing the bad guys, shall we?"

Marian and Fenris exchanged sideway glances before asking at the same time: "Who's Drizzt Do'Urden?"

"Way before your time, kids. Way before your time. I'll tell you about him someday if you're interested."

"You've heard Bodahn, Fenris. He wasn't there," said Marian. "Do we have any other leads, Varric?"

"As a matter of fact, I do…but let me double check on things before I point you to another place to plow down and char to cinders."

"Get to it, then." She got to her feet and stretched. "In the meantime, I've got an appointment I'd rather not go to. Hmph, so much for my Lazy Thursday."

"What appointment's that?"

"Portrait session," she tossed over her shoulder as she strode out of the library.

* * *

><p>One of the unbelievably fun things nobilities should do was to have their own official portraits done. Leandra had commissioned one on behalf of her daughter, and Marian had been finding convenient excuses to not fulfill her appointment with the artist ever since. But no amount of high dodging skills could prevent her mother from threatening disownment and forcing her to finally meet him.<p>

Thus she found herself pounding impatiently at his door, wondering how long it'd take to actually finish one blasted portrait. She looked up when the door opened, and was about to launch a tirade of how much this was wasting her time when she stopped, gaping at the man before her.

"You!" she said.

The Bad Poet sighed. "I know. I tend to get that a lot. What did I do this time? Romanced your lover? Did some hanky panky with your maidservant? Promised to run away with your grandmother?"

"No. You're the one who tried to woo Isabela with your atrocious poetry!"

"So it's option A, then. Look, whoever it is, it didn't mean anything…alright? Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Didn't mean anything? You practically called her a dusky goddess heart worm!"

The man stared at her as realization sets in. He let out a small laugh. "Ah, _that_ Isabela! Has she finally agreed to feast on my tender white flesh, then?"

"Look, is Cecil Stitts here?" Marian asked, exasperated. "I'm supposed to see him about a painting."

"I'm Cecil Stitts. Are you my morning appointment?"

"I don't know. Am I?"

"Well, come on in, then! It won't do for me to let a client stand outside all day long!"

"I thought you're a poet," said Marian as he ushered her further inside his spacious studio. "I didn't know you paint as well."

"Poetry doesn't help pay the rent, honey. You know Hightown and its – ahah – high cost of living."

"Yes, but you've a lovely view," she said, pointing to the windows overlooking the Blooming Rose. "Very inspiring, is it not?"

"One of the perks of this job," Cecil said dryly. "Now, can I get you anything to drink before we begin?"

"No, thank you. I just want to get this over and done with."

"Over and done with?" he echoed with a disdainful sniff. "This isn't some illicit bonk you have with the stable boy behind the shed. This is _art. _You do not hurry art. It is a labour of tears and sweat. If you want something fast, I may as well hand you a charcoal stick figure drawing and call it a day."

"Can you do that?" Marian said brightly. "I'm sure it'll look smashing on my front door. People will talk about it for _decades!" _

"Hmph," said the man as he gave her an odd look, "Your mother had told me many things about you, but she failed to mention your rather perverse sense of humour."

"She usually doesn't. It tends to scare people away."

"Right. So now we discuss about the animal companion you wish to include in your painting. May I suggest-"

"Can I get my Mabari hound to sit in as well?" Marian asked eagerly. "It'll be great! Finally we can do something together."

"Ahahah, no. Unless if you want to turn this painting into a darkspawn massacre, then that's not possible. You're a lady, thus you must carry with you a creature more suitable to your delicate nature."

"Delicate?"

"Yes, delicate. A woman is but a fine flower, Lady Hawke. I fully intend to bring that aspect out of you despite your well-publicized habit of tramping through the countryside hunting for dangerous rocks or whatever it is that threatens mankind."

"Rocks _are_ dangerous!"

"Might I suggest the chinchilla, milady?" Cecil said in an attempt to change the subject.

"What," said Marian in a voice swimming with suspicion, "in creation is a _chinchilla?"_

He pointed towards a dark grey animal sitting quietly in a cage. "See how adorable it is? Say hello to the nice lady, Numnums."

"And you say ladies get painted with these things on their laps? I hope it doesn't bite."

The Bad Poet chuckled humourlessly. "You've faced darkspawn before, yet you're afraid of this small furry thing? You're a strange woman, Hawke."

"Yes well, it's a rodent, is it not? It might be diseased."

"Nonsense. I bathe it twice a day! You're looking at the cleanest chinchilla in all of Kirkwall."

"No," she said with absolute finality. "I will not pose with an ugly hamster."

"And you think a Mabari's a better option? Hmph, wonders never cease."

Ten minutes later found him throwing up his hands in frustration. "You've said no to nugs, peacocks and even a bouquet of roses! I really don't know what you're looking for in this painting, but-"

"Roses aren't animals," Marian pointed out.

"Well there's no other alternative, is there?"

"Of _course_ there is! What about a hawk, like my namesake…or a dragon! Small one, of course. I've always wanted to turn myself into one."

"Hm, yes. The Blight has only been over for five years, so why don't I just pop over to the archdemon and ask if he's available?"

"I just did. He said he can do Sundays."

"Ugh, Maker…" the painter muttered, "This is going nowhere! Alright, fine. Why don't we start small? Let's get started on your engagement gift, then. That should be relatively painless."

"Engagement gift? What engagement gift?"

"A traditional locket-sized portrait to give to your fiancé. Don't you know that?"

"Obviously I don't. What is my mother up to? Has she-" she suddenly gasped, "Has Sebastian been having Words with her?"

"I don't know who this Sebastian is," Cecil sniffed, "But I already feel sorry for him for being saddled with an incorrigible woman for the rest of his life. If he were here, I'd tell him to cut his losses and run away while he still can."

"Why, you-"

"Easy there, dragon lady. Before you decide to stomp out of my studio, bear in mind that you'll be hard-pressed to find another artist willing to take on another commission at such short notice. Besides, you mother had already put down a substantial deposit…non-refundable, of course. I don't work for free, you know." He paused in the gleeful manner of someone putting down a hidden ace. "You wouldn't want to let her down now, would you?"

"So what! I'll _double_ back her money!" she responded hotly, but realized that that wasn't the whole point. If there's anyone who'd mastered the brutalities of emotional blackmail, it'd be her mother. It wasn't that she actually _said_ she was disappointed, but it was her way of not saying it: _I hardly ask for anything from you, yet you can't even do a simple thing like this?_ Afterwards it was the dreaded shaking of the head and that Sigh…

"Oh, fine!" she snapped. "We'll do this your way."

"Excellent!" Cecil beamed. "Now-"

"Can you finish in half an hour?"

"Can you say 'crude, charcoal stick figure'?"

"Yes."

"Then that's what you'll get for 30 minutes of my time. Such a shame. Sebastian's a _very _unlucky man."

* * *

><p>Sebastian fought the urge to spit on his hands and run them through his hair, a childhood trick he learned from his brothers. He was immaculate as always, having taken extra effort in dressing up this morning. Even the most nitpicky crack troop inspector wouldn't be able to find fault with his appearance that day.<p>

Maybe he should've brought flowers with him. That's still considered acceptable in normal society, right? Maker, he probably should've waited a while longer…or sent her a letter first. What makes him think he could win her over with just one visit? The Chantry may have turned him into a better man, but it had never been successful in ironing out his impulsiveness. She's not here yet, so if he could just-

The doors of the waiting area suddenly swung open, and Bethany walked in with two Templars flanking her.

"When they said that a Chantry brother had come to visit me, I thought they were joking," she remarked with an arch of her eyebrow. "I guess I was wrong. Greetings, Sebastian. You're a nice change from my family's usual visits.

"Greetings, Lady Hawke," he said, bowing low. "I hope you're faring well. I'm sorry, I wasn't sure what appropriate gift I should bring, so-"

"Don't bother. They'd just confiscate it anyway," she said tartly. "As for me being well, hm…they've given me my own cell, so I suppose that's an upgrade in society." The woman had clearly changed during her time at the Circle. Varric had warned him about her resentment towards Marian for being sent there. "I'm as much a lady as you are a prince, Sebastian. What brings you here? We've barely spoken, haven't we? I've only caught glimpses of you at the Chantry before my sister left for the Deep Roads. Even then she thought you were a fine-looking man."

"You're…too kind, Lady Hawke," he replied, feeling his cheeks flush. "It's precisely about her that I wish to talk about."

"Call me Bethany, please. Shall we take a walk?"

She led him through another door. The Templar guards, he noticed, didn't follow. As they stepped out to a high-walled garden, he could see why. There were more of them here.

"After living here for years, you'll get used to them being around," Bethany said softly, nodding towards them. "You simply have to. Otherwise you'll go mad."

Sebastian riffled through his mental cards of appropriate things to say at this moment. _Remember: no condemning mages. _"It must've been very difficult for you."

"What? Being forced away from your friends and family? Or being stripped of your freedom? Have _you_ ever been in that situation before?"

"Actually, I have," he said, remembering his initial bitter years at the Chantry.

Bethany laughed. "You're such a bad liar! I know princes have it easier than anyone of us combined! I bet you just snapped your fingers and people would fall over themselves giving you what you want."

"I wish it were that simple, Bethany. But enough about myself. I was told you're doing quite well over here."

"Who said that? Was it Varric? He's such a sweetheart. I miss him. I miss everything. Sometimes I feel jealous of my sister for having options only I could dream of. I refused to see her when I first got sent here. Caused her a world of pain, but she kept coming back. That's just her, you know? She may be foolish, but she's loyal to a fault." She paused, gazing wistfully onto an unseen past. "Oh, I know about the snide remarks people have been giving her…but she's really the best friend you can ever have. I bet you already know that by now. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. So tell me: what was it like?"

"What was what like?"

"When you first realized you love her," she replied, her eyes twinkling in a rather familiar way.

"It…wasn't as romantic as you'd like to think," he said rather cautiously.

"Oh, come now…don't be modest! Marian told me you practically blushed and recited the Chant of Light everytime you hold hands! Are you really that prudish? Where has that debonair prince who'd charmed his way into the hearts and knickers of every woman in Thedas gone to?"

"Bound, gagged and well-buried, I hope."

She gave him a rather Sphinx-like smile. "You might want to exhume him again if you're planning on keeping my sister interested for long."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You haven't noticed those other men circling her like vultures? Surely you can't be _that_ naïve."

"You said yourself she's loyal."

"Loyal, yes. But the question is: to _whom?" _

Sebastian frowned as a green-eyed monster reared its head. "Are you saying that she-"

"Sebastian, now that I think we're the best of friends, can I just be honest with you?"

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"She has her heart set on you since the first day. Even _I_ wondered about her sanity. You were rather…um…"

"What?"

"Insufferable…? Can I really say that? Hah, Anders does this amazing impersonation of you whenever you're not around. It was – ah – very funny. But please don't hold that against him. I'm sure you have your own good qualities as well."

"Such as?"

"Hmm…" she said, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Her clever eyes roamed over his face in a way that reminded him so much of Marian. "Ask my sister nicely and she'll tell you."

"She's been pushing me to retake Starkhaven."

"And?"

"I must say her methods are rather…aggressive."

"A rough spot in your otherwise trouble-free relationship?"

"She can be very convincing, though."

"I bet she is," said Bethany, laughing. "I know nothing about politics, but she does like to get things done. She's trustworthy that way. Shall I tell you a secret?"

"Yes."

"But will you keep it?"

"That…remains to be seen."

She slid her gaze towards the nearest Templar before lowering her voice considerably. "She's been talking about getting me out, you know. Said that she'll plan my escape someday. I know she's serious about it too, because she kept asking me where they keep the phylactries and the patrol rota of this place. I told her it's dangerous…Templars are _trained_ to remain vigilant at all times. If anything goes wrong, it'll take more than a smoke bomb for her to get out. What do _you _think? Would you be fine with her rescuing an apostate?"

Sebastian hesitated. How will he approach this? Should he be diplomatic and lie, or should he go for the higher moral ground?

"I don't know," he finally said.

Bethany seemed surprised. "I was expecting you to go all self-righteous and march off to report me. Perhaps there really is more to you than a mere Chantry brother."

"I have learned that it is far better to lead by example than by preaching."

"In other words, Marian had rubbed off on you far more than you'd care to admit. Look, she's a good person…and I'm not saying this because I'm her sister. She tries so hard to not show people how worried she really is. I know she rarely talks about her past with you…but when we lived as runaways, things were toughest for our father and her. It took every last bit of her backbone just to make sure that we all survive. I don't think you would've liked her back then."

"Bethany, who actually liked their younger selves?"

"Point well taken," the mage smiled. "For all her silliness, she's a proud woman to the core. You almost never get to see her cry. If she does, she'd do it alone. Just thought I'd share that with you just in case of…anything."

"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, other than telling you her favourite food or her pet peeves, I really don't have any other advice to give you." Bethany suddenly stopped and turned towards him. "Just…take care of her for me, will you? She'll insist that she needs no babying, but she can be completely hopeless at times."

"Bethany, I'd still do it without you telling me."

"I'm glad that I'll be getting another brother. Will I?"

Sebastian smiled. "That is entirely up to her."

"Oh, and Sebastian?"

"Yes?"

Bethany stepped closer with a steely glint in her eyes. "Treat Marian well. If you don't, I'll break out of this place myself and hunt you down…and once I find you, you'll see that Abominations are the _least _of your worries," she said sweetly.

He paused, wondering if she was even remotely serious. Bethany uttering threats was certainly a sight to behold, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being harassed by a rather determined rabbit. "Ah," he said rather solemnly. "Spoken like a true protective sister."

* * *

><p>Dog the Mabari hound had yet to unravel the dastardly workings of a human's mating rituals. To him, such things shouldn't be so complicated. The key to any successful relationship, he'd reasoned, begins with a simple act of bottom sniffing. Humans however, have this need to do it the difficult way. They have to engage each other with boring conversations, and maybe even eat together a few times before things finally got exciting.<p>

"So, cousin…Sebastian or Fenris?"

"What're you talking about, Charade?"

Dog perked up his ears. He'd been listening in on the banter going on between his mistress and her cousin with a listless air, but now it may seem like they're moving on to far more interesting matters.

He quite liked that strange dark elf, although he always seemed to be angry about something most of the time. Dog was glad it wasn't him. He hardly spoke to Dog, but when he did, it was with utmost respect as if he was nobility. Sebastian now, he's different. He always had a Mabari biscuit with him, and best of all, would engage him in a game of friendly tussle whenever he feels up to it. It cheered his mistress up no end everytime he did that.

Dog had come to read his mistress's various moods simply by observing her body language and scent, but there were times when her actions did not quite match her words. It was clear she wanted to mate with both men, especially Fenris…but she'd always come home every night smelling like Sebastian. He really couldn't understand why. Maybe Sebastian's bottom smelt better.

"Playing coy does not suit you, Marian. I _know_ you've been stringing two men along these past few months. What I'm wondering is: do they even _mind?_"

"There's no 'stringing' involved, Charade. Things just…happened. We're all in this sort of…of transitory period where we're just waiting for things to fall into place by themselves. Besides, don't you think I've got enough problems as it is without having to deal with not one, but _two_ men?"

Charade idly played with the Fenris plushie as she pondered over her answer. They were both lounging on Marian's bed after a particularly heavy dinner.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I daresay you're enjoying the attention. Oh, don't give me that look. I _know _you do! Why, if Sebastian Vael looked at me the same way he did to you, I'd have a heart attack!"

"You fancy him, don't you?"

The silence stretched far too long than it was necessary, causing Marian to pounce on this. "Ah-_hah! _You do fancy him! Is that why you've been pestering him for extra archery lessons?"

"I do not!" protested Charade. "Men like him are a copper a dozen."

"Really now?" said Marian with a wicked smirk. "Why don't I just go out to the Merchant's Guild Square, toss a handful of gold and see what kind of men might turn up, then?"

"You don't have to be so mean," Charade said rather sulkily. "I was just passing an observation, that's all."

"Observation well and duly noted."

"You know, there's even a new drinking game at the Blooming Rose where someone would read a fanfiction and everyone would take a drink each time the writer waxes lyrical about the exact shade of Fenris's eyes, his hair, the tone of his voice and the amount of sex you and him have together."

"Maker, no," Marian groaned. "It seems as if our fictional selves are having more fun than our real selves. Wait: how'd you know about this game, anyway?"

"That place is my father's second home, remember? I'd always find him there whenever he's not in Lowtown. So, is it true, then?"

"About what?"

"That Fenris made you see stars when he…you know."

"Private, Charade! I'd rather keep matters of my privates private, thank you very much. Don't even bother going through my journal for details, for none of it is there."

The truth was, it wasn't exactly something bards would write ballads about. Their coming together had the awkwardness of a test pilot flying a prototype airplane: full of fumbling despite them knowing the illustrated steps. There were things they had to get used to with each other, and it didn't help matters when they had unresolved issues in their professional lives.

Thus while their grand finale didn't end with a sickening nosedive, it wasn't exactly smooth sailing either. Possibly the only stars Fenris ever saw that time was when she accidentally elbowed him in the eye while they were trying to sort themselves out. No wonder he skedaddled straight away afterwards.

"Hmph, fine. Keep your secrets. So who's it going to be then?"

"Why? Is there a betting pool going on about who I'd end up picking?" Marian smirked. "Oh, the ridiculous things Fenris's fangirls would do amuses me sometimes."

"I wouldn't be so dismissive about them if I were you. They may be obsessed over the silliest things, but they really _care, _you know. They've invested time and money over this love they have towards Fenris and you, and the least you could do is show a bit of appreciation. You're a celebrity, Marian…and Fenris has become this _symbol _to the elven community on what their kind could achieve. Imagine being a race so downtrodden that they practically have nothing, and suddenly they have a hero again. It's because of you two that some people found reason to just get up every morning. Why, they're even starting to believe that you're exactly like Andraste and Shartan."

"You mean, the elven slave who helped Her fight the Tevinter Imperium?"

"That's the one. Crazy, huh? You have to admit that there are a few similarities."

"I don't think Shartan had any lyrium tattoos, though," Marian said cautiously.

"So? You're not going to Tevinter for a bit of a scuffle anytime soon, but who's counting? Look, the point is, the two of you are now a symbol. Pretty soon you'll see your own plushie version on your doorstep, and once you do, will you say that I was wrong?"

"See, that's the thing about symbols. One minute they're a holy relic, and the next it'll be a promotional poster for pie worship. I don't trust symbols not one bit."

"Marian, what is it that you're really worried about? I can tell that you're not too happy about embracing this hero status of yours."

"I don't. Because I know the people who say that I am will be the ones who hang me in the end. Hah, see? Another similarity with Andraste. I'm just happy to not have my bits flayed off while I'm still alive, thank you very much."

There was the sudden silence of someone who was stung by her words, followed by a quiet: "I'd never hang you."

Marian hesitated. For a moment there, she'd clearly forgotten who she was talking to. Charade was, in many ways, very much like Bethany in a sense that both looked up to her as a role model. Despite her constant fear of them following her footsteps, her reluctance only made them adore her even more.

Maybe her only reason for allowing Charade to come over so often was because she desperately needed another sister. But that arrangement somehow worked, much to her mother's approval. Charade had no one else, and Uncle Gamlen wasn't winning any Parent of the Year awards anytime soon, thus it was up to Marian and Leandra to show her proper familial love.

"Ah," she said rather awkwardly. "Well…er, good to know I have one vote of confidence."

"If you want Fenris to love you so much, I know a way to do it."

"Really? How?" she asked, relieved for the topic change.

"Love spell."

"You mean, magic?"

"The oldest magic there ever was."

Marian bit her inner cheek and stopped herself from saying that blood magic was actually the oldest. "And you think that it'd actually work? You're not a closet mage by any chance, are you?"

"No, _obviously_ I'm not. So? What do you think? You up for it?"

"No," Marian firmly said, then uttered one of her worst bullshits in history: "If he truly loves me, then he'll come back on bended knees…_groveling_ for me to give him another chance."

"What if he really did that?"

"Hah, I'd like to see him try."

"Would you marry him, then?"

"Marry?" said Marian, her brows wrinkling at what seemed like an alien concept. "I've never really thought that far. Mother's been dropping 'subtle' hints, of course…but for me to actually do it? Hmm…"

"What? You don't want to?"

"It's not that…it's just…well Fenris doesn't seem to be the marrying type, does he? He's all _'I remain at your side' _and becomes your permanent shadow, but that's it. There's nothing official to it. However, if a girl were to look for something…solid and trustworthy, then Sebastian's the better bet."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning that girls bring boys like Fenris home, but they always end up marrying decent blokes like Sebastian."

"But you have to share his beliefs, though. Have you been a good Andrastian lately?"

"Charade, I have been nothing but a picture of perfect piety," said Marian, clasping her hands together as if in prayer. But she spoiled the effect when she stuck out her tongue.

"Cheeky!"

They laughed together. Charade suddenly yawned and announced that she should be leaving. She gently declined Marian's offer of sleeping over, gathered her things and gave her protesting cousin a farewell hug. She petted Dog on the way out. Marian followed her all the way to the front door, lamenting her incompetency as a host for not being able to convince Charade to stay.

Dog grunted. So far he was the only one who noticed that the Fenris plushie was no longer in the room.

* * *

><p>Next episode: Le love spell and a parrot<p> 


	9. A Not So Ménage A Trois

Bioware owns Dragon Age series. David Gaider wrote most of its characters. I mutilate his work.

* * *

><p>Old habits die hard. Filching things from merchants had become second nature to Marian, and she'd been finding it difficult to break. Even as she strolled down Hightown's marketplace with Fenris, her pockets were filled with small items she'd squirreled away from the last five stalls. And now, she was working on the sixth: a fruit merchant, easiest target there ever was.<p>

"So…" she said. "I do realize that you don't discuss your feelings due to your tough, manly pride…but you were about to say something that night when Sebastian came over to my house." She carefully eyed the elf's back for any sort of reaction. "Care to tell me what was that all about?"

"You expect me to tell you now?"

"Well…yes. I mean, I'd wheedle and use whatever means necessary to get a confession out of you…but you will tell me eventually, so you might as well do that now."

"Whatever means necessary?" he chuckled darkly. "That's a risky claim. How far are you willing to go to get something from me? Do you like pomegranates, by the way?"

He couldn't help but wonder if he was handed a blessing in disguise. They'd decided to give Lowtown a wide berth for now to avoid another mobbing incident. That meant lesser Hanged Man drinking sessions and more quality time with Marian. He'd decided that this was possibly the only chance he could have to pick things up where he left off between them. No guerilla warlord had a plan so perfectly laid out than the one in his head at the moment. He was determined to have her naked and moaning in his arms by the time the night ends.

"Yes, I do. With regards to your first question: all the way, I suppose." A selection of cherry apples was spread out before her, tantalizingly within reach.

"But we've already gone all the way, Hawke. Or have you forgotten?"

Marian frowned, unsure of where this conversation was headed. "I…might need a gentle reminder. What are you talking about?"

She was too preoccupied waiting for the fruit seller for turn his back on her that she was caught completely by surprise when Fenris sidled up close, slid a hand around her hips and whispered hotly in her ear: "I'm talking about you, having a late supper at my place tonight and making up for missing my anniversary. I'm warning you, Marian…it'd take a lot to pacify me completely." He emphasized his point by ghosting his lips down the side of her neck.

To her credit, Marian did a stellar performance at maintaining a neutral expression. "Hm, yes. Do I have to cook? Because I don't cook. I'm worse than Orana. I'm...ah, a hopeless cook chef…yes. Ahem."

Fenris smugly stepped away, keeping his eyes on her as he motioned towards the merchant. He pointed at the pomegranates. Maker damn it all. She'll never be able to think of that fruit in quite the same way ever again.

"Half a dozen, please," he said. "Nobody said anything about you cooking. All you have to do is just…come."

"Ohoho, well done Fenris. You're the master of puns and double entrendes. I almost missed that one, you know," she said weakly. "Are you…actually _seducing_ me?" A handful of cherry apples managed to land inside her pocket when the merchant bent over to rummage through his money pouch for Fenris's change.

"Why? Is it working?"

She was about to answer, she really did. She was going to open her mouth and give out an equally cheeky reply…but it never happened, because somebody chose that moment to grab her.

* * *

><p>Sebastian asked for forgiveness on a daily basis. He'd made a point to kneel down every night and recount every single sin he'd done and atone for them. He'd also pray for the souls who'd done him wrong and begged the Maker for the wisdom to understand and accept them.<p>

But no amount of prayers was going to save Fenris the minute he pulled that dirty seduction technique of his. Whatever he did clearly worked on Marian, and for the first time in a long time, the usually collected Sebastian saw red. There he was, searching for Fenris with the full intent of mending ties between them, and he…_made a move on Marian! HIS Marian!_

His feet began to move before his tongue could utter a single holy entreaty. He wasn't about to sit around and play Ser Nice Choir Boy when his beloved Marian was being led astray by that…that elf. Oh, how he wished he could say a dirty word right now.

It was hard to ignore a strapping lad bulldozing forth with a look of murderous intent in his eyes. The crowd parted before him far more effectively than any Abomination could ever achieve as he marched towards her, gathered her in his arms, bent her backwards and commenced snogging her senseless.

It was a textbook fairytale kiss which broke the hearts of many Fenris fangirls in one fell swoop. All activities around the market ground to a halt as everyone witnessed this passionate play of tonsil hockey. It wasn't just a kiss. It was foreplay in broad daylight, sex minus the sticky bits and a snapshot so powerful that middle-aged women sighed and said wistfully to their children: 'Your da used to kiss me like that during our courtship days.'

When he finally released her, she was looking visibly befuddled. She patted the cherry apples before her as if reasserting her place in reality and found herself meeting Fenris's basilisk gaze. She had no idea where _that_ came from, but if it was a preview of things to come, then she was not only hooked, but lined and sinkered. Sebastian had clearly studied more than Chantry tenets and prayer beads wasn't the only thing he'd fondled before. She wondered if all holy men were like that. Realizing that people were still staring, she straightened herself up, damped down her rampaging arousal and tried to regain her dignity by doing what any sane woman would do.

She bought herself a parrot.

It was from a stall right across the fruit merchant's. The foul-tempered albino thing glared at her through its cage bars and screeched: 'Blistering barnacles! Stick it up the money hole!'

"Why'd you need a parrot for?" Sebastian asked.

"Don't know," she said. "Seems like a good idea at the moment. I think he used to belong to a pirate. Look at him. Kind of reminds you of Fenris, doesn't he?"

"In disposition, or mental capacity?"

"So nice of you to drop by and insult me, Sebastian," said Fenris, sauntering over. "Don't tell me you're only here for that."

"I came looking for you, actually. But seeing Marian here has made me forget my initial purpose. That's quite a shopping bundle you have over there. Expecting some company tonight?"

"You can say that," the elf said, smirking.

"Excellent. Perhaps that will be a good enough excuse to tidy up that hovel of yours."

"Don't worry. You're not invited, so I won't be rolling out a princely welcome."

_Ye Maker!_ Marian thought as she looked at both men glaring at each other. It's a good thing Fenris couldn't shoot lyrium beams from his eyes; otherwise both her and Sebastian would've been cleaved into half by then. The archer himself had proven that he was an adept sniper even without a bow and arrow. If Fenris keeps on goading him, there'll probably be a violent Antivan-style standoff. Young girls might find it unbearably romantic, but Marian personally thought it'd be one bloody nuisance.

"At ease, gentlemen," she said, stepping daintily between them. "Sebastian, it's a nice surprise seeing you here."

"Are you doing anything this evening, love?" the man asked.

"_Waaark! _Stick it up the money hole, you blistering barnacles!"

"Actually, yes. I've a _lovely_ ill-mannered fellow to entertain. Do you think I should let it go? I don't think he'd get along well with Dog," said Marian.

"Finger yourself, slattern!"

"Maybe I should," she went on. "His…language leaves a lot to be desired. Not that I'd mind…but you know how Mother is about these things." With that, she opened the cage and coaxed the parrot out. The animal took a moment to snap at her fingers appreciatively before flying off.

"Hmph, so much for gratitude," grunted Fenris.

"He loves me…I can tell. I'm sorry, love. You were saying…?"

"There's something we need to discuss," said Sebastian.

"If it's to negotiate a repeat performance of that kiss we had just now, then I'm all ears," she said, giving him a flirty wink Isabela would be proud of.

"Ah…no. It's actually-"

"Drat."

"- a matter of great importance. What?"

"Fenris," Marian said, turning towards the elf. "I hope you'll have an enjoyable evening. I'm sure your…guest will enjoy your pomegranate dessert."

"Oh, they'll be asking for seconds. And thirds. I just hope I don't run out of juice before they do," he said slyly.

"How considerate of you," she said, arching an eyebrow. "I should say your guest would be in good hands, then. Walk me home, Sebastian. It's been a while since we had a proper conversation. Mother will be so _thrilled _to see you again, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>(AN: Thanks to Google Translate, we can all speak 1,001 languages. However, if you speak French and you see any errors in Emille's love spell, please let me know.)<p>

Emille deLauncet was a confused young man.

He thought he was on his one-way ticket back to the Templars, but when his captors brought him to a house in Hightown and demanded him to perform a love spell, he knew something was amiss.

Looking dazedly at the ugly rag doll thrust into his hands, he made another attempt at comprehending his situation.

"Er, so…let me get this straight: I do a love spell and then you let me go?" he asked.

"Precisely," said the hooded figure before him. The others were hooded as well, but he'd assumed this was the leader, because everyone else seemed to be taking orders from her. Yes, the voice was female, so he was certain she's one. "However, do have the professional courtesy to make sure that it _works. _Otherwise it's straight to the Templars with you. You _can_ do it, can't you?"

"O-of course I can! Why, you're looking at the best blood mage in all of Kirkwall!" he crowed, trying to sound convincing.

"Doesn't seem like one from where we're standing," muttered one of Hooded Leader's cronies. "Hey, are you sure he's _qualified_ to do this?"

"He's the only one we can afford," snapped the leader. "Go on, then. Do your magic."

"Er, er…does any one of you speak Orlesian?" Emille quavered.

"No. Why? Does it matter?"

"Nothing. I shall perform the spell now."

He held up the doll at arm's length and tried to concentrate. Truth to be told, he wasn't terribly good at magic. The only spell that landed him inside the Circle was the mysterious burning of his cousin's beard, but even then he was positive it was an accident. All he wanted was to be left alone and perhaps get a girl to shag him. This…person, whoever he was, was definitely luckier than him in that aspect. He took a deep breath and intoned:

_Je suis fait enculer si je sais que cela,_

_Laissez cet idiot amoureux de la fille de ses rêves,_

_Peut-être que je vais faire baiser, puis,_

_Je suis fait enculer si je sais que ce._

(I'm buggered if I know this,

Let this idiot love the girl of his dreams,

Maybe I'll get laid then,

I'm buggered if I know this.)

He stood back. There, it's done. If it doesn't work and everyone suddenly turned nasty, he still had a fireball spell or two up his sleeve.

Anticipation hung heavily in the air like cheap aftershave. When there wasn't a definite sign of anyone bursting out of the house and proclaiming his deepest love towards the sky, the Hooded Leader growled.

Emille uttered a rather girly _'eeek!' _when she suddenly grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

"Are you sure that's even a spell?" she demanded. "I'm telling you: if you mess up now, I'll-"

"Maybe it needs blood," quipped one of her followers. "He is a blood mage after all. Someone lend him a dagger."

"Nooo…I'm telling you we need something from Fenris: a lock of hair, toenail clippings, a tooth…that kind of thing," said another.

"Why don't you just knock and ask him nicely for a sample, then?"

"Forget it. Use this bugger's blood and maybe it'll work just as well. What's the worst that could happen anyway?"

There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone contemplated over this.

"Er, he'd turn into an Abomination and kill us all?"

"Please, no!" Emille shrieked. "I'm not a blood mage! I was just kidding! I can't be one…I faint at the sight of my own blood! You have to believe me!"

"You _lied_ to us? Bastard, I should kill you myself!" snarled the leader.

"Yeah, that's the ticket," cheered the blood suggester. "Make sure you don't waste any of his blood."

The young man whimpered at the sound of a dagger unsheathing. "Please," he begged. "I'm harmless! I promise I won't tell anyone about this. Just…just let me go! I don't want to die!"

"Too late, boyo. Should've said you're useless while you still can."

One of them grabbed his left arm. Emille squeezed his eyes shut. They'll cut his wrists and then his throat, he was sure of it. He'll die surrounded by strangers and nobody will care. Goodbye, mama. Goodbye, cruel and unfortunate world.

He waited for the moment where his entire life flashes before his eyes. It's a boring one, sure…but it's the only one he's got. It didn't come, however, when a rather robust voice rang out:

"_Aperi fenestram amor…"_

Question marks practically popped over everyone's heads as they wondered who said that.

"_Luna uti fores, nisi per fenestram."_

"Up there!" exclaimed one of the hooded figures, pointing towards something on the roof.

Silhouetted against the moonlight was a wiry, blue-glowing and pointy-eared apparition. It leaped off and dropped on top of them. As everyone shrieked and scattered away like mice, it struck a rather impressive pose with its Blade of Mercy held aloft in one hand while the other gestured towards an unforeseeable distance.

"My heart sings for her," it intoned. "I must go to my love."

With that it scampered off, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

(AN: _Aperi fenestram amor; Luna uti fores, nisi per fenestram: _Latin for 'Open the love window; The moon won't use the door, only the window'. Bastard Google Translate doesn't have Tevinter language. I've a good mind to write to them and complain.)

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><p>Next episode: Hawke plays tonsil hockey with two men. She's not afraid of cooties.<p> 


	10. Love Spell Number 9

Bioware owns Dragon Age series.

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><p>"I saw that, you know."<p>

"Saw what?" Marian asked, her fingers busily plucking the strings of Orana's lute.

"The way Fenris made his move on you in the marketplace," said Sebastian. He was standing by the fireplace with his back towards her.

"Did you now? Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?"

"No."

"Well, it was nothing in my part."

"Really, Marian? Is that the truth? You know, I'd really like to be able to trust everything you say...but sometimes things just happen in a way that seems otherwise. Do you...do you still love him?"

Marian chuckled. "Love? Hah, it was nothing like that. If you really must know, I can't even put a name to whatever that was. But it's definitely gone now." She gave him a rather shrewd look. "Why? Feeling worried all of a sudden? Don't be, love. There's no reason for you to lose sleep over this."

"I..." he paused, eyes searching the flames as if for an answer. He'd probably find it too, if it wasn't for Marian's tone-deaf twanging on the already suffering instrument. By some miracle, she'd managed to reproduce a rather remarkable constipated goat sound that not even the most seasoned lute meisters could ever achieve. "I've made up my mind about a lot of things lately."

"Really? Like what?"

_Scritch twing twong..._

"I believe that I am at peace with my own conscience to know that it is the right thing to do."

"Never done this much thinking, haven't you?" she said, rather slyly.

_Boing twang spoingggg..._

"Well, I'd be able to once I've stopped that atrocious cacophony," he muttered, turning around and striding towards her. He yanked the lute out of her hands.

"Hey-!"

"You haven't got a single musical bone in your body," he said grimly as he leaned it against the fireplace.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, she steepled them together under her chin, giving her a rather schoolmarm kind of look. "Alright, fine. What was it you wanted to discuss about?"

"I'm reclaiming Starkhaven."

"So it _is_ an important matter after all. You're finally ready to play little big prince. About bloody time. Does Elthina know about this?"

"Not yet. There's of course a little snag, so to speak."

"No need to paint me a picture. Goran. Not sure how he looks like, but I'm sure he's grotesque. As long as he's alive, things'll be rather sticky between you two."

"I'm not even sure if I could convince Elthina to help out on this."

"I hate to say this, love...but prayers and religious potpourri are shoddy armour against cutthroat politics. Your plan's bound to fail because you're thinking like a Chantry brother. If you're serious about this, you'll have to start thinking like a ruler. A bastard one helps...but I'm not talking about King Alistair."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"Basic human weakness," she said. "Pride, lust, greed, jealousy, ignorance. Goran's bound to have either one or all of the above. He's a simpleton who relies on people around him to stroke his ego. But he's a frightened little man. His position on the throne is shaky as long as you're around. He's got an army, but you don't. Oh, I'm sure you can rally your own troops in good time, but nothing could break a soldier's morale faster than good old-fashioned rumour. We can use that to scatter his ranks from inside, so that by the time you march into the city, the throne will be all yours for the taking. There...problem solved."

"No, it's not," he said in skeptical tones. "What can you possibly achieve with a mere rumour?"

"Oh, ye of little faith! Haven't you noticed everytime Varric tells his stories everyone believes him? So I say me and Varric go on a little rumour mongering campaign and...try to rustle things up a little, if you know what I mean. Goran's bound to have an embarrassing secret he's just dying to hide, and I happen to be very good at finding out things like that. Another thing: it's about time you take a closer look into your other allies."

"Like who? Anders?"

"Flora Harimann. You may not like her that much, but she's sworn to back you up with her name and resources. Use her to get close to Goran."

"Marian, I'm not sure if I-"

"Do you want my help or not?" she asked with such uncharacteristic sternness that surprised even Sebastian. "You've been too sheltered in the cloisters, Sebastian. You said yourself you hate politics. What makes you think you can last five seconds as ruler with that kind of mindset? You need me, whether you like it or not…and if I say I'll help you out, then by golly I will. I'll use whatever means necessary, but the rest, however, is up to you. There's also the matter of picking your princess…but I guess you'll have your royal advisors for that kind of thing."

"My prin- what are you talking about, Marian?"

"Don't get me wrong, love. But let's call a spade a spade. I like what we have at the moment...but love isn't a luxury you can afford when it comes to royal marriages. I'm just a commoner with a Lady in front of my name. What do I know about the true life of nobility? I'm too busy saving lives and solving the Fenris fangirl mystery! What you need is someone who can solidify your foothold as Prince. That is something I can't help you with."

He shrugged matter-of-factly. "So be a Viscountess, then. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

She chuckled. "What…just like that? Sure, let me just march up to the Viscount's Keep and tell Dumar to bugger off, shall I?"

"Dumar's unfit to be a ruler and you know it. He's frightened of Meredith, and he didn't think he could control the Qunari situation without your help. I say you step in and do the job he obviously couldn't."

"Huh, now you're starting to talk politics. Well done. I reckon you're on the right track to being a ruler already. Now all you have to do is practice saying 'Off with his head!' and start bathing in virgin's blood."

"Marian, why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Nothing. Just recalling something I've read. It seems so mind-boggling that some people go insane the minute the crown is on their heads. I don't know why. Do you think it's because of the gold and rubies? Too much precious stones Tranquilling a person's brain...that kind of thing?"

"So you think I'll go insane as well?"

"No, I'm sure you'll make an excellent prince. You just need someone to help steer you along. But that's what advisors are for. They're there to make sure you wear your knickers the right way round. All _you_ have to do is look pretty on the local currency."

Sebastian suddenly laughed and shook his head.

"You've an impressive forehead, so I'm sure it'll stick out even on the titchy bronze coins." She paused, giving him a puzzled look. "What was that for?"

"You're devious, manipulative and trickier than a ferret…yet you say you know nothing about nobility?" he said, pulling her to her feet and guiding her to the settee so that they could sit side-by-side. "You really like to contradict yourself."

Marian glanced at the open library door then leaned forward, lowering her voice considerably. "I can't be Viscountess," she hissed. "I bloody hate this place! Bloody Kirkwall and its stark buildings. I get the heebie-jeebies everytime I look at those blasted slave statues. The only reason I stayed is because of Mother, end of story."

Sebastian gave her a look that lingered far longer than necessary. She gulped and fidgeted, trying to look at anywhere but his face. He knew her. He really knew her in his own way. Marian had this habit of creating smokescreens over her fears. Bethany had schooled him about this.

"You actually stayed because of your sister, didn't you?" he said. "I've seen her recently, you know. Gave me a lot of insight on who you really are."

Marian was surprised. "You did? Well that's a first. I didn't think you'd even remember her. Tch, the blabbermouth. Did she tell you about our secret handshake as well?"

"I was the one who asked. I want to get to know you, Marian. I really do." He took hold of both her hands. "We've never really discussed about the direction of our relationship. It's always been about my goals, my plans. But tell me, love: what do you expect out of this?"

"Me?" she said. "I just want a quiet holiday by the beach."

He chuckled. "That is easily attainable. But I'm sure you know what I really mean."

She narrowed her eyes, realizing that he was being serious. Taking a moment to weigh her thoughts, she finally said: "I'm not pious, Sebastian. And I don't know if I'll ever be. Do you think you can accept that without first lecturing me about the Divine's holy retribution? And I'm not expecting a chaste relationship. If you're not planning on jumping my bones anytime soon, then forget about it."

"Hm, piety is something you only get into when you're well and truly ready. As for chaste, well…let me see if I can make my true intentions clear enough…"

Dog yawned and stretched, smacking his mouth as he reveled in the afterglow of a really good nap. He perked up as his nostrils picked up a familiar delightful scent. He padded over to the library door, salivating at the thought of a Mabari treat. He stopped, however, when he saw what was happening inside. He cocked his head sideways, feeling rather curious. Ah, so this is how humans mate, then? After a while, he was distracted by far more interesting smells from the kitchen, so he left.

Marian sat back and tried to calm her racing heart, but it was difficult when she had a prince attached to the side of her neck. The man was proving to be very good with his mouth, making her wonder for the second time if all holy men were like this. Maybe she was lucky enough to snag a passionate one. His hands were doing what Brother Gentivi does best: charting out Marian Bay and exploring the delightful continents beneath her shirt.

"Marian," he whispered into her desire-hazed ears. "Will you marry me?"

She should scream. She should laugh. Hell, she should even drag him upstairs and rape him before he'd even realized what just happened. She should do many things including saying the one word that could make or break the moment forever.

What she never accounted for, however, was a crazed Fenris bursting through the library wall and yelling foreign gibberish at her. At least that's what it seemed like at first. Even Sebastian was too stunned to get off her. Fenris remedied that by unceremoniously shoving him aside and yanking Marian to her feet.

"This is how a woman should be kissed," the elf growled. And ravaged her mouth.

Right in front of Sebastian.

Right before the indignant and increasingly pissed-off Prince of Starkhaven.

Vows be damned. The Chantry had always emphasized the abhorrance of violence towards a fellow man...but it was a bit hazy on the subject of elves or any other known species. He picked himself up and lunged towards Fenris, grabbing him by the front of his tunic and pulling back his right fist for a sucker punch.

"Sebastian, wait-!" Marian screamed, desperate to avoid bloodshed inside her own home.

"Dinner is ready! I'm afraid the pot roast is a tad burnt, Sebastian...because the - oh my, what have we here?" Leandra paused at the doorway, regarding the frozen diorama of violence before her. "Is everything alright?"

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><p>Marian sat with a hand over her eyes. She simply couldn't ignore the steady stream of Tevinter purrs coming from the chair five feet away from her. It didn't take a long stretch of imagination to know that Fenris was looking at her as if she was the last bottle of Aggregio on the entire surface of Thedas.<p>

She'd summoned both Anders and Merrill to have Fenris examined, and used all of her diplomatic skills to calm Sebastian down and make him stay at the opposite side of the room. He stubbornly chose to be beside her with a possessive hand placed on her shoulder instead.

Orana was standing nearby, sobbing silently into a handkerchief. Marian felt that something should be said to comfort the poor girl, so she reached over and patted her arm.

"Fenris is fine, Orana. I'm sure of it. You shouldn't worry so much."

"Oh, mistress!" she exclaimed. "I wasn't crying because of that. The things that he's saying to you right now…it's all so romantic!"

"Really?" she asked, nonplussed. "Well, it'd be far more effective if I could _understand a single word." _

"He's reciting a poem…a very old poem of a slave who fell in love with his master's daughter. They were planning to run away together, but he was caught and sold off to another owner." The elf dissolved into a fresh round of tears. "Makes me cry everytime I hear that!"

Marian pursed her lips at this. "Anders, Merrill…any insight? Can you two cure him?"

"There's nothing I can do," said Anders. "He's obviously not physically hurt."

"It's a love charm. The symptoms are clear as day. These spells usually go away after a while. I think we should just wait," said Merrill.

"Hm, yes. But for how long? What if this goes on for a week?" asked Marian.

"Then I reckon it's your lucky week. You've been _dying_ to have him grovel at your feet, and now you have your wish. Congratulations," Anders said tartly.

"Oh, you're very funny, Anders," Marian sniped, feeling Sebastian's grip tightening.

Fenris got up. "I wish to put down the proclamation of my love towards you in ink," he said, going over to her desk. He sat down and commenced writing.

"Hm, he can write now? Well, the monster certainly can learn new tricks, I'll give him that," Anders commented.

"Score one for the monster team," said Marian. "What about you, Anders? Can Abominations learn anything useful as well?"

The mage scowled. "I'm being summoned out of my creaky, flea-infested bed in the middle of the night just for this? Honestly, Hawke…you certainly know how to waste my time."

"I'm just feeling a lot of love coming from you right now, you know? What is it: brotherly concern, maybe? Or is it friendly rivalry or whatever flashy terms the fangirls have dreamed up recently?"

"Ooh, I didn't know you feel that way towards Hawke, Anders," quipped Merrill. "Are you going to write a proclamation as well? You might want to watch out for Sebastian, though."

"Hmph, please," he said, gathering his things. "The only proclamation I'd love to write is her death warrant."

"Thank you for coming, Anders," Marian said sweetly. "I really appreciate it. Remind me to buy you a kitten the next time I come around."

"The real question here is: who cast the spell on him and why?" Merrill asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sebastian suddenly exploded. "This is clearly the handiwork of his so-called _fangirls. _They've really crossed the line this time, Marian. What would've happened if he came and you're alone? This could've been avoided if you actually _listened _to Aveline and looked into this matter_. _How much longer are you going to wait until he completely ruins everything?"

"Tch, of course I've been looking into it! You think Varric and I have been sitting on our hands all these while?" she snapped back.

"'_Completely ruins everything?' _Aren't we being rather melodramatic over this, or am I missing something?" said Anders shrewdly.

"Shut it, mage," Sebastian growled.

"All right, what are we going to do with Fenris in the meantime?" Marian loudly asked to stop any future bickering.

"Feed him a sleeping draught and tie him up," said Anders. He appeared to think about this before adding: "But then again, he'd probably phase himself out. So sleeping draught it is, then. A nice wallop in the head wouldn't hurt as well. For us, at least. I'd be more than happy to do that if nobody will."

"Am I the only person in this room who feels like walloping you?" wondered Marian.

"Ooh, no need to tie him up. Look at him. He's a real softie, trying to write sappy love confessions for you," cooed Merrill, a person who'd say the same thing about a manic 130-pound Rottweiler who'd just bit off the postman's leg.

"Considering it is you, Merrill, I'm prepared to overhear what you just said," frowned Sebastian. "But be warned that there won't be a second time."

"What did I say? Was it something bad?"

"I am finished!" announced Fenris. He thrust a sheaf of papers into Marian's face and stood before her expectantly.

"Ooh, did he include adorable cave drawings of you both?" asked Anders, inching forth and trying to peek over her shoulder.

She scanned through them, her frown deepening the further down she went.

"Softie, you say?" she asked, holding up the papers for everyone to see.

It was full of Arcanum nonsense from margin to margin.

"Well," Merrill said rather awkwardly, "it's the thought that counts."

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><p>Next episode: Fenris is McSteamy, but he's still a dummy.<p> 


	11. Denial Isn't A River In Thedas

Bioware owns Dragon Age series and all its known characters.

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><p>(AN: Poem filched from the movie 'A Life Less Ordinary')<p>

If there really was a temple dedicated to worship the wild-child rock star of Tevinter, Marian was half-expecting a complicated song and dance routine of random demon slayings, jaunts through fetid sewerage and frustrating anti-theft mechanisms. You know: the usual hack 'n' slash routine.

But as she found herself effortlessly breaking into a disused warehouse with Varric, she couldn't help but wonder if the dwarf had his information muddled up for once. It'd be nice to report a discovery of a massive shrine adorned with skulls and heathen symbols…but no such luck. All they could find were stacks of Fenris woodcuts and a humorous cart bumper sticker which said _'Blood mages do it all night'. _

"So much for the hype," commented Marian, scuffing the dirt beneath her feet.

"At least we know there has been recent activities over here. Maybe we should come back for the cosplay event."

"What the blazes is a cosplay? Honestly, these people come up with strange jargons that they sound like they're mentally disturbed!"

Varric grunted good-naturedly. "Hmph, you don't say. What about those PWP, canon, non-con and lemon stories they've been churning out, eh? Oh, and let's not forget Fenrian, Fenders, Isarill and…my own personal favourite: Martian."

"Martian?"

"A mash-up of your name and Choir Boy's. I think it's cute. You should name your babies that."

"You're grotesque."

"Always ready to please, milady," he said, bowing low with a wide grin on his face.

"Ugh. Let's go. Nothing else to do here. I'm stopping by Fenris's just to check on him and maybe snoop around for clues on last night's mage activities."

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><p>True to Merrill's prediction, the love spell wore off. Fenris was skulking in his room, seated by the window and scowling at the trees outside. He was in a strangely foul mood, but Marian was determined to talk things over with him.<p>

"Go away, Hawke," he growled.

"Please, just five minutes."

"I said: go!"

"I've read your poem."

"What poem?"

"The only one I could understand out of all those stuff you wrote last night."

"Burn them," he said rather curtly. "I don't even want to _know_ that they exist."

Wordlessly, she unfolded a piece of paper and began reading aloud:

_Oh, desert me, wretched loneliness,_

_And bring me back my love,_

_For she and I have parted,_

_And the sky is up above._

_Your limbs so svelte and slender,_

_Your touch so soft and tender,_

_But the bits that I like best,_

_Are the bits that're between your breast._

_Just as the flowers blossom,_

_In the gaze of the shining sun,_

_I would be most honoured,_

_If you would bear my son._

She refolded the paper. "That was singularly the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me. I didn't think you had it in you, Fenris."

"You're right. I don't. That sounds like something only The Bad Poet could come up with. If you're really looking for cheap proses, why don't you go find him? I hear he works for free."

"I don't care if it's not good. The point is, you're sincere-"

"Sincere?" he barked. "When I was under the influence of _magic?_ Really, Hawke. I'd realized before that you have such poor judgement, but I didn't think it was this bad."

"Alright, so that's a wrong thing to say. I know you did this against your own free will, and I'm not here to try to sway your opinions about magic. It was wrong, yes. I've been lax in dealing with this matter, I'm sorry. I didn't think that it-"

"That's the whole point, isn't it? You didn't _think. _You'd rather leave that to people like Varric and myself while you go off strutting about as if you're Maker sent. You're nothing but a charlatan, Hawke."

Her jaw dropped. "Me? A charlatan? When I was the one who've cleaned up just about every blasted problem this Maker-forsaken city ever had…including, I might add, your own personal ones? Anyway, what are you complaining about? From the way things looked yesterday, you're obviously all too eager to pick up where you left off years ago. So what are you waiting for? I'm here, so let's get busy!"

"Hmph, don't cheapen yourself on my account."

"First a charlatan, and now I'm cheap? My, what difficult hoops you make me jump through, Fenris. Shall I balance a ball on my nose for your further amusement?"

"Why don't you fall downstairs and break your neck first just to test my sense of humour?"

Marian wasn't sure how, but she suddenly found herself in his face with a fist raised, ready to punch, strangle and murder him in one go. What's one more dead body in this damned city anyway? If anyone asked, she'll just say he's on an extended sabbatical.

He stood his ground, glaring a dare at her. Just one hit, one small hit and she'll find herself spread-eagled against the wall while he rearranged her innards in alphabetical order. He'd have trouble with C and S because he wasn't sure which came first, but he'll get there eventually.

Marian lowered her hand, realizing that this was a stupid thing to do. They could fight it out till the nugs came home, but it'll never end. So she pursued the alternative course. She stomped onto his foot instead.

It was a girly attack, but it still achieved the desired effect.

"I'm sorry if I appreciate you going all Ser Romantic Soul on me," she said amidst the sounds of hissed curses. "I mean, what's with the pomergranate innuendo, huh? And what about…what about what happened at the marketplace?"

"You mean, before or after Sebastian ravaged you in public?" he snarled. "You could've been honest with him and say that you're with me…but you didn't. What is he – a convenient placeholder just in case things didn't turn out so great with me? Oh, very well played, Hawke. You would've made even Isabela proud. Remind me to buy you a congratulatory round of goat's milk at the Hanged Man later."

"You were too busy playing the manly man elf who pisses his own leggings at the mere mention of Danarius, so _of course_ someone needs to step in eventually. Don't you _dare _put this all over my head, Fenris!"

"Ah, yes…naturally _your _problems have to supersede anyone else's, since you're the leader and everything. All _we_ have to do is drop whatever's on our laps and chase after your latest whims and fancies. What an _excellent _master plan, Hawke. Not even someone with zero brain function like Merrill could top that."

Marian snapped her mouth shut. She'd get far better results arguing with a teapot. Tossing down the poem onto his table, she gave him a bitter smile and said: "You know what? Why don't you make a commemorative plaque of the amount of toes you've stepped on and hang it over your fireplace?"

"I'll put it on my bedside table, so that I can hug it everytime before I go to sleep."

"You're right about one thing, though…" The expression on her face was unreadable, but only because it was etched with such varying shades of pain and rejection that it was almost an abstract painting. "I _do _have poor judgement. The worst I'd ever done was believe that I actually have another chance with you."

Fenris never meant to be nasty, but his mouth ran off before he could stop it. "Someone's been indulging in too much fanfiction lately. Makes you soft in the head and believe in imaginary things."

And then, she was gone.

She didn't even cry. Strangely that didn't make him feel any better.

He was determined to apologize, but caught between him almost dying afterwards and followed by Marian's greatest tragedy, a suitable opportunity never quite presented itself.

The moment she reached home, Marian sat down heavily at her work desk, staring blankly into space for a full five minutes.

"I think," she announced to the wall, "I shall go mad."

"Very good, milady," chirped Bodahn. "Will you be changing your shirt before you do so?"

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><p>Next episode: Hawke dream team vs. the Qunaris<p> 


	12. When the Giants Come Marching In

Bioware owns Dragon Age series and all its known characters.

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><p>(AN: Stupid Arishok and his blasted one-on-one duel. Hawke's coming in here with her whole gang just to teach that Qun a lesson.)<p>

Marian had never felt the desperate need to pee than the one she's experiencing right now. It was a minute of speakable horror; only thing was she'd rather not say it out loud for fear of it being true.

"Aveline?"

"What?"

"I've just stepped on the Viscount's head, haven't I?"

"That would be the case, Hawke. If you could divert your attention towards what's waiting for us up ahead then I'd be most appreciative."

"Right," she said, sticking out her chin in an attempt to strike a brave pose. "Commencing serious mode in zero time. Let's go."

The Arishok silently waited for her party to approach, his axe slung over one shoulder in a rather friendly manner. It wasn't a posture calculated to make him look badass and menacing, but by the Maker it certainly worked in sending all the wrong signals towards her.

But still, no worries, right? She's being as cool as cucumber, and once they've sorted out this mess, everyone can go back to doing whatever it was they've been doing. Maybe she could get a statue out of this, or a theme song written in her honour. After this there'll be nothing but autograph signings, street parades and kissing babies' bottoms for the rest of her life. Ah, that's the ticket.

Bloody hell, that's a _really_ big axe.

Marian badly wants her mummy right now.

"Hawke," the Arishok rumbled, inclining his great head towards her.

"Arishok," she nodded. "You really should've waited two more months. That's when they have the annual Solstice ball. Their egg salads are worth dying for."

The Qunari scowled. "You jest at the strangest times. Are you really that much of a fool, or you simply refuse to see the magnitude of your situation?"

"Oh, I'm seeing to things, alright," she said rather severely. "Question is, how do _you _see this ending? Do we smile, shake hands and let everyone go…or do we go the gory, blood-spattered route?" She paused, swallowing hard before adding: "Please say you'll pick option A."

"_You_ tell me, basalit-an. You alone have proven your worth amongst these yokels," replied the Arishok, striding closer and towering over her. "I cannot retreat, and you are here to prevent further destruction to your precious city. As noble your intentions may be, let me remind you that the very people you save today shall be your executors tomorrow. Such is the way things are with humans. Your lot possess such short lives and even shorter memories. So tell me: how shall we resolve this?"

There was a brief period of silence as Marian ruminated over this. She was making history, she knew this, thus whatever she said next should be well thought out and cool enough to keep everyone talking for generations. She needed something to rub into that lemon-faced hag Meredith just to keep her itching inside her sardine-can armour everytime she saw her. Serves her right for trying to boss her around, hah!

"I don't suppose a round of rock-paper-scissors could help break our stalemate?" she suggested rather sheepishly.

The Arishok's brows darkened. Someone suddenly stepped forth and unceremoniously brushed her aside. It turned out to be Fenris. "Arishok," said he, and attempted to dislodge a particularly difficult gob of phlegm. Upon closer inspection it turned out he was speaking Qun. He was kind enough to translate for the rest of them: "This woman is now basalit-an by your consideration."

"Yeah," said Marian, nodding empathically.

"You have granted that her word carries enough weight to sway your decisions regarding this matter."

"You tell him, Fenris," she cheered.

"I suggest a duel to the death. You against her."

Marian's head was dragged around as if it was being pulled by a string. _"What?"_

"We shall settle this by the terms of the victor."

"I said: what?"

"What say you, Arisho-mrpmph!"

"Excuse us for a minute, your lordship," she rattled, hand still clamped firmly over the elf's mouth. She dragged him a little way away from their audience and hurled him against the pillar.

"Listen here, you wretched monkey!" she hissed. "I know you hate me, but can't you think of an easier way to get me _killed?"_

Fenris crossed his arms to his chest and glared at her defiantly. "You know not the ways of the Qun, Hawke. A duel is something they understand, and they will honour the terms to the letter. Normally they'd refuse to fight a woman, but since you're a basalit-an, you have the right to invoke certain…procedures."

"So you think that me fighting a seven-foot, dual-weapon wielding, 300-pound monstrosity is the best way to prevent Kirkwall from going up in flames?"

They stared at each other, then as one person looked at the Arishok. If the blasted giant smiled and waved with his axe, Marian swore she'd run away screaming right there and then. It's a good thing he didn't.

Fenris looked back at her. "Yes?" he said rather wryly.

"Is there a problem?" It was Sebastian.

"Nothing that can't be solved with a little diplomacy," said Marian, glaring at the elf.

"Hm…there is, of course, an alternative," said Fenris, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"What's that?"

"You can name your champion for the duel. By the looks of things, I daresay Sebastian here is a more than willing volunteer."

Marian fought the urge to cuff him in the back of the head. "No," she said through gritted teeth.

"Marian, if that is the case, then I will-" began Sebastian, but she cut him off.

"No, we'll settle this _my_ way…and with any luck, nobody else will have to die except for those bastards," she said, stalking away.

Maybe it was a mere coincidence, or maybe it was simply because Fenris had been watching her so closely all these years that it had become a natural habit to him. Whatever it was, he distinctively saw her palm something from her back as she made her way towards the Arishok.

"Have you come to a decision?" the Qun leader said rather gruffly. He was losing his patience.

"Yes, and my answer is no. You will take your men, and you will leave at once. Kirkwall will have nothing more to do with the Qunaris. Your people will no longer be sheltered nor welcomed in this city ever again."

The Arishok's nostrils flared. "Do you take us as mindless cowards like your fellow humans, Hawke? We do not fear your threats, nor will we ever bow to your whims. To arms! This shall end with death, one way or the other." With an air of finality, he swung forth both his weapons. Taking the cue from their leader, the rest of the Qun dropped into a fighting stance.

The gang automatically formed themselves into the standard back-to-back formation as they found themselves being flanked by enemies from all sides.

"Orders, Hawke!" Aveline barked amidst the cacophony of weapons unsheathing.

"No one bloody dies!" Marian snarled. "Or else I'll go into the Void just to give them a sound ear lashing!"

"Hmph, that sounds easy enough," quipped Anders, his staff glowing in anticipation.

Sebastian regarded the enemies clustered around them, his loaded bow weaving from one target to the next, ever ready to shoot at the first Qun to make a move. His eyes traveled towards the upper balconies where more Qunaris were stationed. They were all armed with spears; which meant that if Marian's team were to move about fast enough, the only thing they'd be able to hit was each other. The major flaw to this plan, however, was that they had to _keep moving all the time. _Preferably at the speed of light.

Marian angled her head towards him. "This may not be the best of times," she said. "But my answer's yes."

The man had his mind full of too many sharp edges, too many hostile faces and playing swift mental chess as he tried to keep track of too many movements, thus he could only grunt out: "What?"

"I will marry you, Sebastian Vael."

* * *

><p>"Varric, Sebastian, you both go high!" Marian barked, motioning towards the top balcony. "Be sure you make a clean sweep! Fenris, Aveline…clear the floor of nasties first. Anders, healing's your top priority. Merrill…stay at the sides, keep an eye out on me, but watch your back at the same time! Nobody touches the Arishok until I say so! Dog, you know what to do!"<p>

"What about me?" Isabela wondered.

"You? Do what you do best: backstab people. But do it on the enemies, please. _Our_ enemies, if you're still unsure."

"Ah," said the pirate thoughtfully. "I can do that."

It was merely a daily workout for all of them. Marian had trained her team well, and they knew their individual roles even without her telling them. This was the time where she displayed her true leadership powers: during the heat of battle. Gone were her laughter, her jokes…living was something she took very seriously. She can't afford to die, she really can't. Not when Mother and Bethany was still counting on her…

Much to everyone's surprise, she dove after the Arishok alone. Five seconds. That's precisely the amount of time she needed to turn this fight against him. She was barely five feet away away when she suddenly dissolved into shadows and reappeared behind him. She managed to draw first blood with a rather clumsy lacerating slash and was once again gone before he could do anything.

"Coward!" thundered the Arishok, his great head swiveling about to catch a glimpse of her as his nostrils sniffed the air for her scent. She was frightened, he could tell. "Come face me and prove once more you are worthy, basalit-an!"

Dog chose that moment to go insane, growling and nipping at his heels. With one powerful downward thrust, the Arishok attempted to cut the Mabari into half, but that damned creature managed to leap back in time. He continued his path forward; setting his sights on the currently occupied Aveline while Dog resumed nipping at his posterior. It would've been a funny sight indeed if it weren't for the fact that the grey giant was determined to kill all of her friends one by one in order to force Marian out of hiding.

"Is this how you fight, Hawke?" he shouted, raising his sword arm. "Using your companions as shields while you _cower_ in fear? How can this be the so-called great Hawke? Kirkwall certainly has such a poor choice of a Champion. Humanity disgusts me. How you continue to exist is far beyond my-"

He caught the familiar whiff of acrid smoke when Marian materialized before him once again, effectively blocking his incoming blow. The force of his swing caused her to buckle to her knees, and he watched in detached fascination as she valiantly struggled to stay the inevitable path of his sword. He brought his axe down as a killing blow at about the same time she desperately screamed: "Anders! Merrill!"

The Arishok froze. Literally. He was entombed in solid rock and ice: a deadly combination calculated to buy Marian several extra moves.

The rogue rose like a deadly tide, using the craggy surface of his prison to lever herself upwards as she slammed an elbow into his face. The only thing she'd managed to achieve was breaking his nose. It's a piddling injury…nothing that he cannot mentally block off. Hawke really was a fool for floundering up her opportunity. She tried slipping in a few strategic hits, but Merrill's spell proved to be a mistake. While it was effective in stopping him, it also acted as an impromptu armour. Marian found out soon enough that the only chips she's causing was the one on her blades.

"Not working," she grunted, somersaulting off him and landing at a safe distance. She cocked her head sideways, a frown of concentration on her face as she tried to form a second plan. A Qunari reared up behind her, spear raised but immediately fell again with an arrow through his skull. She had a guardian angel, albeit an earthly bound one. He was tracking her every movement from his vantage point at the balcony.

Varric saw this, and he chuckled quietly to himself. So Choir Boy's proposed and she'd accepted, eh? Now _that's _news. He knew exactly what she was doing. She was distracting the Arishok while the rest of them trim the weeds. It was a risky move, for one direct hit from him could easily break her in half.

"Hang in there, Hawke," he muttered, swiftly reloading Bianca. "I'll be with you in a sec."

The ice shattered, and with nostrils spewing blood, the Arishok shrugged off the crumbling fortress of rock as he charged after Marian. She readied her daggers in a laughable effort at defending herself. He'll tear through her armour like paper and soon she'll see how vulnerable she really was.

With a guttural roar, he raised both his weapons and brought them down into a deadly scissor arc. At least, that's what he was planning to do if he hadn't noticed the distinct hiss of a burning fuse nearby. Twin fuses, to be exact…and it was _very_ nearby. Supernova sparked across his vision as the double explosion rocked him to the floor.

_That damnable witch, _he thought as he struggled to fight the ringing in his ears. She'd quietly wedged live Combustion Grenades within his shoulderplates when he was incapacitated. Dog fell upon his back, nipping and scrabbling at his already singed flesh. The Arishok made a weak attempt to heave the animal off, and was rewarded with the agonizing sensation of his skin peeling off in strips.

Marian's garbled voice came to him as if he was underwater. She was calling out to that healer mage again. This was going very badly for him. One more freeze attack and Hawke will easily reduce his life to the final quarter, leaving him to her friends to finish him off. There wasn't a single doubt in his mind that most, if not all of his followers were either dead or unconscious. This cannot be! The honour of the Qun must be upheld! He was miles away from home, and he will _not _die on this vile, forsaken land!

Anders was screaming he's running out of lyrium potions, and whatever mana he had left he was saving up for healing. Marian bit her lip as she jogged sideways, trying to anticipate the Arishok's next move. He was still down, so if she'd just slip behind him and-

A fist the size of her head shot out and clamped around her wrist, yanking her cleanly off her feet and whirling her into a halfway arc before finally releasing her. She'd always wondered what it was like to fly freely. Now she's getting a firsthand experience. She smashed against a pillar across the room with a sickening crack.

Somebody screamed her name, but she never found out who it was. She was too busy trying to convince herself that being down was the worst thing to do at the moment. The floor was practically shaking as the Arishok thundered his way towards her. She briefly wondered what would've happened if she played dead.

"You dishonour me with your petty parlour tricks and cowardice, Hawke!" he roared. "Get up, and face your death with dignity!"

This wasn't part of the plan! She's the badass hero! Whatever happened to dodging a thousand arrows, surviving a fifty-foot fall and rescuing children from a burning orphanage while walking away with only a broken fingernail? Varric made the whole thing sound so effortless. Something hurt very badly, and she was sure her left arm was currently useless. Her vision swam like a mirage, and for one heart-stopping moment she thought she was looking at four Arishoks.

Her friends descended upon him like a pack of Furies. Missiles pelted off his back, blades bit into his skin…but he was King Kong minus the Empire State Building. They might as well try attacking him with Fenris plushies. He performed a Quake and sent everyone flying. Even Marian could feel the tremors from where she lay.

She struggled to her feet, using her good arm to prop herself up against the pillar. Through blood-choked eyesight, she vainly tried to find her daggers. They were nowhere to be seen. _No! Noo! Think, Hawke. Think, bloody Maker damn it all! You can't afford to die today. _The Arishok will never get the pleasure of seeing her groveling and sniveling across the floor. She'll never beg for her life. That was something she did half a lifetime ago, but now nevermore.

The Arishok was less than ten feet away from her. With nothing left standing in his way, he twirled his weapons and cut a circling path to her left. The bastard knew about her arm, and he was determined to use that to his advantage. Well, he'll be pleasantly surprised to see that this rogue still had a few aces hidden beneath her sleeve. She dropped into a fighting stance, mentally preparing herself to cast Decoy. Half her team was down for the count. The rest were nowhere to be seen. Good, they should save themselves rather than play the hero. That's _her _job. Aveline's unconscious form was the nearest. While the Arishok was occupied, she could dash forth and slide herself towards the guard captain, borrow her sword, and-

The Lyrium Ghost blocked her path, hefting his Blade of Mercy within both hands. She stared, relieved that he was still upright and in full fighting form. He cast a brief glance over his shoulder. Her breath stopped.

She'd never realized how expressive his eyes were until now.

"You should run, Hawke," said he.

And then he was a blur, rushing headlong towards the Arishok and tackling him with a powerful upward swipe. It left his left side wide open, and the Qun leader slammed the blunt end of his axe into the elf's ribs. Fenris staggered backwards, struggling to maintain his balance. The Arishok grunted, relishing the smell his pain and in one triumphant motion, ran him through with his sword.

Marian must've wept there and then. She watched in horror as Fenris was held aloft, dangling off the edge of the mighty sword like a…like a…well, she couldn't think of a suitable enough analogy because she was more concerned with the rivulets of fresh blood staining the blade.

"_ANDERS!" _she screamed, already moving before Fenris's body touched the ground. The Arishok had cast him aside with a casual flick and was making his way towards her. She didn't care. She really didn't care. If Anders had to perform blood magic just to save him, then so be it. She'd be a more than willing volunteer. The Arishok was going to kill her, anyway, so Anders had better be prepared when that happens.

The floor was slick. She skidded and fell, jarring her broken arm as she did so…but she hardly noticed. She was too busy studying his pale face, his closed eyes…

He wasn't breathing. There wasn't a single pulse. Anders appeared beside her, his eyes grimly assessing the situation. If there was no chance of survival, then he was wise enough to not voice it out. Instead, he busied himself by casting healing spell after healing spell and pulling out injury kits and bandages from his pack.

Dog attacked the Arishok with renewed vigour. This was for Fenris. This was for his mistress. Not even Justice could hold a candle to the amount of vengeful spirit he possessed at the moment. So what if his Overpower doesn't do as much damage as he'd hoped? At the very least it stopped the Arishok long enough for Merrill to summon Loss of the Dales with the final vestiges of her mana and bring the Arishok to his knees.

The barbed vines cut into his flesh, and the more he struggled, the tighter they wrapped themselves around him. Someone materialized behind him, someone who'd acquired Fenris's Blade of Mercy and now ran it through his back. It'd be nice to say that the Blade sliced his heart like hot knife through butter, but anyone with rudimentary anatomy knowledge would know that layers of packed muscle and bone will slow down the thrust. But this man was driven by the divine fury of the Maker and His Andraste, and his eyes blazed with righteous retribution as he twisted the sword for good measure. Now the only way for Fenris to get his weapon back was to either saw the Arishok's body in half or do his fisting thing. No muss, no fuss.

Fenris had bloody better live through this.

Sebastian looked at the two forms huddled over the elf's still form. He made his way towards her, dropping heavily to his knees as he placed a hand on her back. She didn't appear to notice. She was desperately clutching Fenris's hand as she willed him to live.

He knew of nothing else to do, save for the one thing he does so well.

He began to pray.

* * *

><p>Next episode: Is Fenris out of the equation?<p> 


	13. Hawke's Laundry List of Dreadful Events

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware

* * *

><p><em>Minrathous, present day…<em>

Minrathous was, in a way, something like Harry Potter minus the Gestapos. There wasn't a single Templar in sight, the Circle was something that existed in other parts of the world, and magic was the city's staple favourite that it was literally part of her national anthem.

As an apprentice mage, Feynriel really was having the time of his life. It was either this or be made Tranquil. At least this option had a better career advancement plan. Being used to the oppressive presence of the Templars, he admittedly experienced a fair bit of culture shock the moment he arrived in Minrathous. He'd seen an elephant, witnessed his first magical duel _in broad daylight,_ watched a live slave auction and gawped at the Juggernauts guarding the city.

He'd thought longingly of his mother, and despite the betrayal he believed she'd committed, he still wanted to write to her and tell her about his newfound life. She was his only link outside of the city; at least, that's what he thought at first. He never imagined another familiar face would make a sudden appearance weeks after he'd written to her.

Marian had accosted him when he was running an errand for his master. She was all friendly and chatty, steering him subtly into a random tavern despite his protests and sat him down for a round of drinks. She called in a favour - something which he understood, considering the fact that she'd saved his life not once, but _twice. _What she asked for was something childishly simple. His master would disapprove, but he thought he could help her out just this once.

In all honesty, he was in awe with her. Stories of her defeating the Arishok had reached Minrathous, and if there were anything the folks of Tevinter loved besides magic, power and tacky fashion sense, it'd be tales of other people kicking serious Qunari bottom.

She was like an old friend he never realized he had. Hearing her faint Fereldan accent as she animatedly gossiped about Kirkwall made him realize one thing: he didn't miss that city at all. Oh, he'd missed the little things, of course – the all-night elven supper takeouts, the trademark Darktown smog, his mother's cooking…but that's just about it. It's difficult to love a place that hated him from the beginning.

He allowed a small part of his consciousness to drift as he used his Somniari talents to gently prod her mind. Hawke was every bit the skillful actress he'd initially suspected. She hid a great sorrow as she joked about Meredith and the Templars. He smiled indulgently, his admiration towards her magnified as he wondered how she could bear her troubles without falling to pieces. The only thing _he _had to worry about was Templars and demons.

"I'm sorry about your mother," he suddenly blurted out.

She chuckled. "Why? She's relatively fine the last time I checked."

"Ah…yes," he said awkwardly. "Good for her, then."

"We even had a party before I left." Marian's scooped up her drink and attempted to look busy with it. Oh, what a bloody party it was. It was actually a wake, and it was horrible.

He smiled, aware that he'd touched on a rather painful subject. He too fiddled with his tankard and tried to not stare at the haunted look in her eyes. Her goat's milk splashed over his hands as she suddenly slammed down her drink and leaned closely towards him.

"Ok, I lied. It was a wake, and by the Maker it was _horrible!"_

"Really? Tell me."

She hesitated. "Well…"

* * *

><p><em>(Chapter 12.1: The one who was captured)<em>

She had to endure accusing looks from Uncle Gamlen, and people she didn't know touched her and told her that Leandra was an admirable woman. Barely five hours since she was buried and already Marian felt like throwing away her things. By the time everyone left, she was nursing a seemingly permanent bad mood. Things took a turn to the worst, however, when a well-meaning idiot sent her a wreath of white lilies.

The events surrounding Marian's life so far could safely be summed up as a celestial game of Saturday Night Bingo in the Golden Halls of the Maker. He probably had those ball-filled rotating bins, gave it a spin, pulled out a number and announced the latest misfortune to ever fall on her lap ("I say, I say, what have we here? Oh…_her mother dies…"_)

Marian reviewed the list she'd written down so far:

1- Father died.

2- Escaped a darkspawn invasion.

3- Carver died.

4- Uncle Gamlen.

5- Bethany in the Circle (not so bad).

6- Arishok invasion.

7- Fenris almost died (really bad).

8- Mother died (…)

Oh, she could just see her horoscope for that year: _The undertaking business will profit greatly from you. Avoid batty old witches at all costs. You will face danger at every turn, so you might as well lock the doors, bar the windows and remain a hermit forever. Don't even think of betting your life savings in a nug-wrestling game with your uncle. Walk under ladders, run over black cats while breaking mirrors and you'll find yourself going through the rest of the year swimmingly. Lucky number – 13. Lucky colour – black._

She looked down at her black mourning clothes and rolled her eyes. Oh, she must laud the Maker for having such a bloody twisted sense of humour. Now all she needed was a plague of locusts and an outbreak of pestilence to complete her list of dreadful events.

She sniffed, and roughly scrubbed her cheeks dry.

The falling rain did nothing to improve her mood whatsoever. She should probably call it a night, crawl into her bed and wither away to nothingness. The damned world could fall down for all she cares. Catastrophes happened on a daily basis, but right now she had every right to feel sorry for herself. Maybe she should pack her things and steal away somewhere without anyone knowing. Surely the gang would understand. She really couldn't bear to be in her own mansion right now.

But would Sebastian understand? Her eyes fell on a nondescript velvet pouch wedged between a stack of notes and the inkwell. It had taken him a better part of the month to obtain it; but given the fact that Fenris was still recuperating from his wounds, and of course doubled by her most recent loss, she'd found no reason to fully appreciate the pouch's content.

A Mabari crunch. The specially baked one. That was the only thing that prevented Donnic from mourning over a wife. Dog always went crazy over those things, and one conveniently slipped inside the Arishok's waistband bought them all the necessary time.

But that's all she really was: one full of tricks and lies. Such an intangible skill that blessed and damned her at the same time. It certainly wasn't enough to save her family, and she wasn't even sure how much longer it would be able to save her.

With a sigh, she tossed away her quill. She tilted her chair back and settled her feet onto the table. Hm, bit of a headache coming. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her throbbing thoughts. She really shouldn't be thinking about this. Mother's gone…let go of her. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Bethany didn't even get to see her for the last time, so count yourself privileged. Hah, what a funny word. She was glad that it wasn't up to her to deliver the bad news, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Uncle Gamlen wasn't the better alternative either.

Poor Bethany. She's probably crying all by herself right now. Tomorrow calls for another visit. Hopefully she wouldn't pull out a blame game like Uncle Gamlen did. She just couldn't-

"Mar – _achoo!_ – ian-!"

Her eyes snapped open. A dripping apparition had materialized from her balcony and she had too many demons crowding her mind at the moment that she could only think of one thing.

She yelped. Her chair crashed backwards and she found herself sprawled on the floor with a _real_ headache this time. She uttered a few choice expletives that could curl paintwork as she tried to find her daggers. Remembering that she'd handed it over to Bodahn for cleaning, she scuttled across the carpet for the next best thing she could use as a weapon.

"Stay back, demon!" she screamed, holding it aloft.

The intruder stepped forth into the light with his hands held up placatingly. "Shh, love. It's only me, Sebastian." He glanced up. "And even if I am a demon, I don't think you can do much damage with Orana's lute."

"What are you this time…a Desire demon? Hah, very clever turning yourself into Sebastian. What are you trying to pull? Haven't you murdered _enough_ of my family? You here to kill me too?"

"Marian, it's really me. I'm not a demon. I'm just here to see if you're alright. I would've come through the front – _achoo!_ – door, but I overheard Bodahn saying to Aveline that you're not receiving any visitors earlier, so I didn't even try." He sniffed. "Besides, if I'm here to entice you, don't you think I would've come without a cold and in drier clothes?"

"Oh, very clever," she sneered. "Maybe you're appealing to my sympathetic side, who knows? That nipples-through-the-wet-shirt look isn't working on me, by the way."

Sebastian stared at her, for a moment wondering if she was pulling his leg. He squelched everytime he moved, and the rain had worked his hair into dark wriggles down his forehead. He pushed them back with one hand while he motioned outside with the other.

"I've been standing in the rain for two hours," he said, "hoping to catch a glimpse of you and debating whether or not I should come up. I'm worried, Marian. Worried that you're all alone and there's nothing that I can do to help you overcome your grief."

She lowered her weapon. It made a rather sad _twong_ as she propped it against her nightstand. "You're right. There's nothing you _can_ do…so why don't you just go on home-" she suddenly stopped, giving him an odd look. "Two hours? It took you that long to finally come up with a decision? Honestly, Sebastian. No wonder a whole century passed before you settled yourself into becoming a prince. What were you doing before that?"

"I was praying…for your mother and you. I've lit a candle in her memory, hoping that the Maker will deign to allow her to walk by His side. I'm planning on holding an all-night vigil…but I thought I'd go over and visit you first."

"No offense, but I really don't need the Maker right now. I prayed for the safety of my family, and did He give me that? No. So if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to wallow in my puddle of self-pity and cynicism. Oh, and if there's anyone who's feeling lonely right now, it'd be Bethany. Tch, I _knew_ I should've been the one to tell her about Mother. Uncle Gamlen's only as good as that stupid wallop mallet of his."

"I understand you're saying that out of grief. And you have every right to be angry. For every single thing that the Maker takes, He gives you something much more afterwards. I know that doesn't mean anything to you, but six years ago I was in your shoes…remember? And He did give me something better. That's how I met you."

Marian closed her eyes and tried to calm herself. That's precisely what the leading man was programmed to say, right? And he'd slipped in that humdinger so smoothly that it was like finding a truffle inside her razorblade candyfloss. But she knew he'd meant every single word. Honesty was practically his middle name. That and also Earnest. Dear Maker, she hoped it wasn't Earnest. It was just as bad as Cecil or Percy or Cthultu.

She studied him. "You should strip right now."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

* * *

><p><em>(Chapter 12.2: The one who got away)<em>

Phasing had been such a natural act to him that Fenris found himself absentmindedly doing it sometimes. But given his current state of health, he had to concentrate just to make sure he didn't leave his spleen behind in the wall. Anders surmised that the only reason he wasn't dead from the Arishok's attack was because of the lyrium inside his body…but the tiny, sappy side of him would prefer to believe that he was alive because of Marian.

He wished he could say that dreams of her accompanied him during his long foray into unconsciousness, but all that he could remember was a fevered one where a half-naked rabbit kept calling him Balthier and telling him to blow up a Ragnarok. He'd woken up contemplating a brief career as a sky pirate…whatever the Fade that was.

The _Give Fenris His Hawke_ movement had clearly launched their latest campaign. He couldn't walk past five paces without seeing posters and flyers praying for his recovery. News of the Arishok battle had overshadowed the Viscount's death by a narrow margin only because he was partly responsible for it. Groups of women would peep at him around corners and giggle quietly amongst themselves. Some of the bolder ones ran up to him to shake his hand and press scented hankies into his palm. He couldn't understand what this meant, but at least he wouldn't have to worry the next time he had a cold.

He'd reached his home only to find flowers, notes and (he'd surreptitiously checked for this) plushies waiting at the doorstep for him. Hah, so much for remaining incognito now. The only thing these people didn't do was shout out his location at the rooftops.

He'd received the news from Anders just this morning. The man had exhausted himself far beyond his limits just to make sure that Fenris survived. He suspected that Merrill dabbled in a bit of blood magic herself just to help out, but of course nobody was saying anything. Recuperating at Anders's clinic for six weeks was, of course, _such _a treat. He simply couldn't get enough of the medicinal stench mingling with the rest of his wretched patients. Naturally he was ecstatic when Anders finally declared him fit enough to go home. Fenris had grudgingly thanked the healer before he left. Only the fact that he owed the man his life that he stopped himself from reasserting his views towards mages.

Anders had reacted strangely towards his show of appreciation. He'd turned away and gruffly told him it was Hawke he should be thanking. She was practically in tears when she thought he was dead.

Now _that_ was something. His relationship with Marian was admittedly an atomic accident. It seemed that whatever landmine topic they had (aside from mages and people with names starting with D) was never clearly established from the beginning, thus they found themselves at loggerheads over the silliest of things. Oh, but when things were good, they were really good. Marian had even declared him one of her best friends, and it was an honour he carried with pride. But when things began to smoke, there was nothing to it but an emergency evacuation and everyone steeled themselves for Chernobyl 2.0.

And yet no matter how far he thought he was running away from her, he always found himself coming back. Maybe he enjoyed this emotional S&M more than it was deemed healthy…or maybe he simply couldn't live without her.

He paused at her bedroom door, belatedly realizing that knocking was far more difficult than getting inside her mansion. So he called out her name instead.

"Marian, it's me." He stared at the woodwork, wondering if she'd already forgotten the sound of his voice. Thus he added rather sheepishly: "Fenris."

A soft shuffling of footsteps across the carpet and he knew she was listening from the other side.

"I'm sorry I missed the funeral," he said. "I'm here to let you know that…that I'm here and if…if there's anything that I can-" he suddenly stopped and let out an irritated growl. "Listen: you know I'm no good with these things. Just let me in, Marian. Please. Don't make me use my injuries as an excuse for you to open up."

He strained his ears. If he listened carefully, he could hear her breathing. Or was that a muffled sneeze?

"Now's not a good time, Fenris," her voice floated out hesitantly. "I really need to be alone. Thank you for coming over."

He dropped his gaze to the ground. It refused to be friendly, but it made things easier for him. "Look, I realize that now is a bloody awful time to be saying this…but if I don't, it'll stay unsaid forever. I'm not one for perfect timings, anyway. Marian, I…I know about you and Sebastian. I think you're making a big mistake. He's obviously not the right person for you. I know we left things at a rather bad note the last time you came over, and I'm truly sorry. It wasn't the proudest moment of my life…" he paused, mentally considering his previous life, and rolled his eyes.

He went on: "I hate losing you, Marian. I may do mean things, and I may hurt you. I may run away without your permission, and you may hate me forever…and that scares us both. But he doesn't know you as well as I do, and he probably never will. I guess what I really want you to think about is that I…that I…" He made a frustrated face and resisted the urge to punch the wall. Why was it so hard to say that one word?

He tried again. "Marian, I…I guess I lo-"

The door opened a tad. Marian peered at him with a rather peculiar expression before slipping out. Much to his surprise, she hugged him tightly.

"I'm fine," she bit out. "You should worry about yourself, Fenris. I'll…get over this. You know I always do."

"Marian, stop pretending. You're far from fine," he said gruffly. He reached out to push her bedroom door open. "If you need company tonight, I'll – oh."

Unbidden and unwanted, he was treated with the heartbreaking view of what lay inside. A wet, towel-clad Sebastian sitting on her bed was enough to tell the whole story.

"I..it's not what it seems," she said.

"I…I _see," _he said. "Please excuse my trespass. I shall bother you no longer." With that, he spun around and began to walk away.

"Fenris."

He stopped. "What?"

"You were wrong, you know."

"About what?"

She raised a hand, and for a moment he thought she was going to flip him off. But the sapphire and diamonds nestled snugly at the base of her digit was a far worse insult than any form of rude gesture.

He gave her a rather wry smile. "I stand corrected, then. I hope you enjoy each other."

With that, he was gone.

* * *

><p>"The funny thing was, when he left, I felt as if I've lost not one…but two important people in my life," Marian said wistfully.<p>

Feynriel sighed, and then chuckled.

"What?"

"You got engaged after your mother's funeral. If that's not surreal, then I don't know what is…and coming from someone who knows the Fade inside out, that's saying a lot."

Marian looked at him uncertainly. "Thank you, I…suppose. Technically, I've said yes ages ago…but you know how it is."

"Hawke, you're insane."

"Ugh, don't I know it."

"Yet you're the most incredible woman I've ever met."

She smiled, and raised her drink. "Here's to laughing in the face of danger."

"Preferably done as far away as possible."

"So you'll help me with my little job, then?"

"For old times' sake…why not?"

They clinked tankards.

* * *

><p>Next episode: Hawke vs. Danarius smackdown. Varania shares a dirty little secret. Hawke receives an unlikely help.<p> 


	14. Escaping the Devil…and Meeting Him Again

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

><p>The twinkling vista of Minrathous spread out before Danarius like a velvet full of diamonds. The chilly night wind ruffled his robes, but it was nowhere near as chilly as the smile on his face.<p>

"Enjoying the view, Hawke?" he asked.

Marian gulped in return. Her feet dangled over empty air and the only thing stopping her from becoming an abstract painting over the cobblestones was Danarius's magical grip on her.

"Could do with more tasteful art installations," she said, grinning weakly. "Toasted mage in the middle of the street is _so_ last year."

"This is the so-called Champion Fenris has been hiding behind all this time?" he sneered. "He _obviously_ didn't tell you everything. I can find him in my _sleep, _Hawke. Do you think those markings are only for him to do impressive tricks with his hands?"

"Ohoho, he can do amazing things with just two fingers, Danarius. Did you teach him that when you were _raping _him?"

Was it surprise, or guilt she saw slithering briefly in his eyes? Whatever it was, it was gone as the mage matched her snarl with a stare that was stonier than ever. She'd recognized that poker look on another face, one decorated with pointy ears and a madman's greed. It made her even angrier.

"It gets you off," she growled, "seeing him frighten your enemies. You said that demons had tainted him, and he needed to be cleansed. Shall I go on? In your room, you made him watch as you-"

"What does it matter to you what I do with my property?" he said coldly.

"He thought that whatever you did to him was right!" she said, her voice escalating the steps towards indignant rage. "He thought that whatever life he used to have couldn't be any better than the one he's having with you. You were a saviour to him_, _and you _used_ that against him!" She began to struggle. "You'll _never_ get him back, Danarius, so you'll just have to resign yourself to stroking dead furniture for the rest of your life!"

The mage sighed. "Why is it that the hero always insists on backtalking when he knows he's about to die?"

"It's all true. There are people who'll guard him with their lives. And you'll be very surprised at how tenacious they can be."

"What is this?" he chuckled sardonically. "He's got his own army to protect him, now?"

"Even better." Marian grinned and delivered the next line in the same manner of someone performing a very clever checkmate: "He's got _fangirls." _

Danarius dropped her.

* * *

><p>As Marian plummeted to her death, she took a moment to ponder over how her plans could go wrong. Back at his study, the guards thought they'd got her; but it turned out that the woman they were hacking to pieces was a mere Decoy. Feynriel took over and Mind Blasted everyone to unconsciousness. By the time she stepped out from the shadows, she was looking at a floorful of horizontal enemies.<p>

She didn't waste any time. She wanted Danarius. Before she cut his throat, she didn't bother with amateur lines like: 'This is for Fenris, you bastard'. She was professional, and she wouldn't muck around over things that really mattered to her. In under a minute he was dead.

Or so she thought.

She had to be sure, so she'd stayed to watch as the blood drained from his body. But what drained as well was her confidence. The man wasn't Danarius. Whatever magic the mage had worked on this person, it faded and revealed his true form: an elf. No doubt another slave.

She turned at the sound of clapping.

"Congratulations," said Danarius. "You've just murdered your first slave. You should see the look on your face right now, Hawke. It's priceless!"

She leapt, ready for murder; but the mage lazily flicked a hand and suddenly they were admiring a bird's eye view of the city.

_How are you holding up, Hawke? _Feynriel's voice echoed in her mind. He was communicating with her from the Fade – a place he'd proudly dubbed his Base of Operations.

"Ngh?"

_Do you want me to save you now?_

"Yes!"

_Alright, here we go-_

A tearing of the Veil, and a hand reached out for her. She grabbed it and felt herself being yanked sideways, disappearing in a flash of coruscating light. She watched the distant figure of Danarius and sent him a message. It was a stupid one…but Marian was born stupid.

Danarius had seen the fancy fireworks and stopped gloating. He became angry instead. For just before the Veil closed, a slim hand had stuck out and showed the middle finger to him.

* * *

><p>Marian fell on Feynriel's lap.<p>

"Cutting it rather close, aren't we!" she said rather breathlessly as she disentangled herself from him. Dusting herself off, she looked at her surrounding. An eyebrow quirked.

"The Hanged Man?" she asked.

"The very same. Just…don't eat or drink anything. I'm not sure what will happen if you do that while you're in here."

The tavern was creepy without the usual hustle and bustle. Ghostly shapes flitted about as pale imitations of patrons. Marian found herself looking up the stairs towards Varric's suite, wondering what she'd see there.

"We need to move," said Feynriel. "Danarius has entered the Fade. He must _never_ know I helped you, Hawke." He paused, an expression of dread crossing his face as the unmistakable stink of blood crept over them. "Oh, no."

Marian took his hand and said firmly: "Let's go."

They stepped out and into a group of soldiers playing cards. Somewhere in the back of her mind Marian sneered. Magisters were certainly powerful enough to have their own military arm. These specimens were clearly off-duty, and if there's anything that could annoy a soldier more than anything was something interrupting their game. They stared suspiciously at the both of them. In a moment of striking genius, Marian smiled.

"This is not part of the tour, no?" she said brightly to the assorted basket of irritated and heavily armed men. "We should've turned left after that iron maiden back there."

One of them, probably a captain from the looks of his livery, barked something in Arcanum.

"We can find our own way out, thanks," she said as she nudged Feynriel towards the nearest exit.

Once they were out, she leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. "Talk about jumping into a dragon's mouth! Good thing Danarius never told them to look for us."

There was a sudden bang, followed by a cacophony of screams coming from the room behind them. Lightning sparks hissed and popped around the doorjamb, causing Marian to back away in alarm. A livid Danarius bellowed out a curse so powerful the knob melted.

As they regarded the sad mass of dripping metal, Feynriel said rather thoughtfully: "You know, my master once did that when he mucked up his experiments."

Their gazes met, and as if on an unspoken consensus, they began to run. They burst out from the guardhouse and found themselves at the stables. Marian commandeered a horse and pulled Feynriel up behind her.

"Didn't take long for him to find us," she said as they galloped off.

"_Blood_ magic, Hawke. Need you really ask?"

"Hmph, good point." Whatever pursuit they had, she'd managed to lose them in the Daedalian maze that comprised of the city's slums. But she knew it wouldn't be long before they'd picked up her trail again. Pulling at the reins, she said: "You better get off here. I can find my own way to the docks."

"Are you sure?" Feynriel asked, but slid down nonetheless.

"Yes. Thank you for your help," she said, reaching out. They clasped hands, firmly.

"We'll see each other again," he said. "Good luck. And Hawke…?"

"What?"

"He dreams about you, you know."

"Who does?"

"Fenris."

"That's nice. Somniari talents at play again?"

"Why, Hawke? Why are you doing this?"

"I find myself asking that question sometimes," she sighed. "Why don't _you_ tell me what do I dream of?"

She rode off with his answer burning her ears. _He's wrong! He had to be! I can't be that selfish…can I? Damn stupid Dreamer brat. Just because I called in a favour he thinks he can read me like a book? And where's that blasted throughway to the docks?_

She paused at a crossroad, frowning at the signboard scribbled in Arcanum. That's the problem with foreign places. Everything just conspired to be unrecognizable. She practically had 'Tourist' stenciled on her forehead, and if she wasn't careful, she'll be mobbed by street urchins trying to sell her naughty postcards.

The plan from then on was easy. All she needed was a clear path to One-Eyed Sammy and his schooner named_ Dulcet Sestina_. But that was just the beginning of her problems. She'd finally figured out a way to the docks. Unfortunately, so did a group of soldiers.

One of them unwisely gave her a command in Arcanum. It's funny how the language sounded better when it came from Fenris.

She growled in irritation. She really didn't want to do this. Dancing on her feet was something she did best, but she preferred doing it to her own tune.

Her mare screamed when she slammed her heels against its sides. It reared up, forcing her to cling to the reins like a limpet. In one mad moment, she briefly wondered how the seven Hells dashing heroes on horseback could hold this pose long enough for their portraits to finish. Must've taken a cartload of sore buttocks and animal cruelty just to complete one painting.

The horse galloped madly down the road while the soldiers drew their swords and formed a line. She ignored the crossbow shots whizzing past her ears and sped up. It was reckless, but the only way out was forward, and Marian prayed for whatever deity that happened to be listening to let her have her uncanny rogue's luck. All it took was good timing, kamikaze steel guts and her good old Backstab.

She was standing on the stirrups now, keeping her body low to minimize wind resistance. Her mount stank of sweat and fear as she sighted between its ears, trying to gauge the distance as best as she could.

_Sorry, horse. You know you might die from this, don't you?_

Her peripheral vision caught something, yet she couldn't swerve in time. The explosion rocked them sideways and caused the horse to lose momentum.

She swore loudly and yanked at the reins. An animalistic protest shattered her eardrums, but she'd managed to bring them back on track. _Blasted mages!_ She snarled as she quickly scanned the rooftops. They're always a devil to pinpoint whenever she's in a hurry.

_Three, two, one…NOW!_

The soldiers clearly weren't prepared for this. She vanished right before their eyes, leaving a terrified horse careening inevitably towards them like a makeshift battering ram.

Marian reemerged to the sounds of an embarrassing accident behind her. Flashing a cocky grin, she scrambled up the nearest wall and found her way to the rooftops. The Thieves' Highway, that was the popular phrase for obvious reasons. No moonlight chase would be complete without a jaunt across one. But the soldiers would be too busy sorting themselves out that by the time they've come up with a plan, she'd be halfway back to Kirkwall.

_Yay for the cool and awesome me,_ she thought to herself as she navigated her way past smoking chimney stacks and leapt across yawning gaps. _And to think that Nanny Varric was so worried. Hah! _The smell of the sea fanned her face, brought in by the chill night wind. The docks can't be that far away now. The thought of going home had her buoyed on a cloud of elation so high that she noticed the telltale magical glow too late. The fireball swatted her right off the roof.

The slingshot motion slammed her back against the opposite wall and she tumbled down the rest of the way, crash landing onto a stack of moldy crates. So much for cool.

"Ow."

She muzzily stared at the blurry figure stepping out from the shadows. Half her face was burning, and she rained wooden splinters when she got to her feet. She took a tottering step forward, only to flop gracelessly back to the ground. She couldn't move at all.

"I'm sorry, but this is absolutely necessary," said Varania, her hands raised halfway to maintain the Paralyze glyph. "You must be brought back to Danarius or we all bear the consequences."

Marian said nothing. Her eyes did all the cursing.

"You have been fooled by Leto," said the elf, "Just like I was. I never wanted this, you know. But his desire for power killed our mother, and it was all I could do to not share her fate. But thinking back now, I wished that I was dead as well. The…things I had to do, I was _made_ to do…" Varania trailed off, shaking her head. "Giving himself up to Danarius was never worth it."

_Who the seven Hells is Leto?_

"Do not be swayed by his lies," Varania went on. "He'd _asked_ for those damned markings. Fought for it, even. He thought that by doing so he'd be saving us from slavery, but little did he know that he was only pushing us into a far worse fate."

Question marks swirled inside Marian's mind as she wondered that maybe the elf had her mistaken for someone else. Nothing she babbled so far made any sense.

"What…" the spell was wearing off, "the _blazes _are you talking about?"

Varania gave her a rather curious look. "You didn't know? Or did he _conveniently_ forget? Do you really trust him that blindly? Before he became Fenris, he was Leto. We had nothing, so he wanted everything. All at the cost of his own family! Tell me: did he paint himself as a martyr, or did he play himself out as the victim?"

Marian was at the point where she thought that maybe crazy ran in the Fenris household. Nothing the elf said made any sense. _Pull yourself together, idiot! You can't trust everything she says._

"The only thing he played was the angry card…and I can now see why," she said. "He doesn't know you're a mage, does he? Worried that he wouldn't be the loving big brother if he did?"

"Danarius knows about the letter he sent me. He's coming to Kirkwall even without you pointing the way. He'll have Fenris back, and whatever Danarius wants, he'll get."

It all began to click into place. "I personally had that blasted letter sent!" Marian snarled. "I'm starting to think that maybe it shouldn't have been written in the first place!"

The elf looked at her sadly. "He should know the truth. That he wasn't the victim here, but me."

"What about me? I'm a victim too," Marian ventured. "An unwitting victim to circumstance and quite possibly strong fire magic. Danarius taught you well."

"Would you blame a person for doing everything she could to survive? You, with your rogue manner and your _tricks. _Even _you_ clawed your way up to your Hightown manor. Don't you dare judge me for the things I've done!"

"I'm not judging! I don't even know what you did!"

"No, I must take you to Danarius. If atoning for his sins meant facing your death, then so be it."

This was getting too surreal for her liking. Marian's arms was still stiff at her sides. A smoke bomb seemed like a really good idea at the moment. If she could just free one hand, half her troubles would be over. "I trust you don't have much experience dealing with rogues?" she said conversationally.

The elf apparently had plenty. She barked out another spell and Marian found herself completely immobile again. "Danarius said he wants you back alive, but he didn't specify in what state. Stop fighting and all unpleasantness shall be avoided."

Marian's mind whirred for an escape plan. Maybe this time she'd really put herself inside the hangman's noose. Varric had every right to worry, and did she listen? Nooo…

Wait, Feynriel's still reachable. He admires her, yes? Has a tiny crush on her, even. Maybe he's secretly monitoring her just to make sure she's alright and he'd spring out at the last moment to save the day. Let's see…how do you send out a smoke signal the Somniari way?

She watched with increasing consternation as Varania produced a dagger. Marian realized that there was another channel she could use, but in light of its recent unpredictable results, she'd much rather not. Despite her loud bleatings of disavowing the Maker, it wasn't entirely true. He had become more of a superstition to her: something she'd hardly believed in, but held on to…just in case. It was a flimsy faith system which operates purely as a panic button or a life jacket: _you never know when you might need one. _

Blood spattered on the cobblestones as Varania began chanting a summoning spell.

_Dear Maker, if you get me out of here safely, I promise I won't do anything stupid for the rest of my – for three days! _

A portal opened and a ghostly form began to step through, preceded by a rather familiar sadistic laugh.

_For a whole week! I'll even learn the Chant of Light and pay a yearly tithe to the Chantry. I'm sure Sebastian would like that…_

The Maker, by all definitions, wasn't an entirely cruel deity. He listens, and giveth to those who asketh. People may not believe in Him as much as they should, and He technically had no reason to return the favour. Forgiving and forgetting was more of Andraste's department, but if anyone who really understood what it meant to have people mess with his girl, it'd be the Man Himself.

"For Broody! For Hawke! For Fenbabies!"

Swiveling her eyeballs to what was possibly the most bizarre war cry in all of history, Marian suddenly found herself facing a Mages Associated Firing Squad. At least that's what it felt like to have six magical staffs pointed towards her. They all blasted off at the same time.

By the time the smoke cleared, Marian was looking at a lightly burned and unconscious Varania. She felt someone touching her shoulder and a male voice saying assuringly: "Do not worry. We are on your side." He began muttering a spell.

"You've killed her!" she exclaimed once she was able to move.

"Hardly," said the stranger. "Do you prefer your mages medium or well-done?"

"And I'm supposed to answer that in front of you lot? Who the Fade are you? Did…did Varric send you?" she asked, peering suspiciously at their covered faces. "I'm telling you, if there's another mage guerilla gang running amok in the city, I will-"

"We support the renegade elf Fenris."

"Oh, Maker," said Marian, her voice pitching in alarm. "You're _fangirls!"_

* * *

><p>Episode the next: The worst scars are the ones in the mind<p> 


	15. The Worst Scars

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

(AN: Stockholm Syndrome - Abduction/ abuse victims who become sympathetic towards their captors/ abusers. Jaycee Lee Dugard is one example, as are cases of spousal abuse. There are sites that can explain things better - mine's just a brief summary)

* * *

><p>The minute her feet touched Kirkwall's docks, Marian hugged the astonished docks master.<p>

"You have no idea how glad I am to be back," she said to him. Smiling politely, she then trailblazed a path straight to Merrill's home with an expression of dread intent on her face. She'll be getting some straight answers from that blasted elf by hook or by crook.

Merrill didn't know what to think when her front door was suddenly slammed open and a strangely familiar apparition stormed through, an accusative finger pointed at her as if commanding Andraste Herself to smite her down with righteous lightning.

"Merrill, you'd better level with me now, or so help me Maker I'll kick seven kinds of confessions out of you!"

"Hawke! You're finally back! So, um, how'd it go?"

"That potion you gave me…does it have any side effects whatsoever?"

An expression of panic darted across the elf's face like a thief. "Did you have loose bowel movements afterwards? Because I _may_ have overlooked the fresh deep mushrooms-"

"Does it cause hallucinations?"

"Hallucinations? No, of course not. You get to read the other person's mind, although not in a literal-"

"_And you didn't think to tell me about this before? WHY?"_

Poor Merrill actually cowered before Marian. "I…didn't think it was important. You _did_ ask me for something to protect you. If you didn't want his thoughts as a trade off, then you could've mentioned it before. Wait…so what did you find out about him?"

Marian sighed and tried to bring her hackles down. She brought up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together until they're only half an inch apart. "A little bit of a heads up," she said. "That's all I'm asking. At least if I suddenly find myself running down the street without any knickers on I can safely say: 'Oh, it's not me, then.'"

Merrill gasped, her already abnormally large eyes widening even further, giving her a gobsmacked owl effect. "Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Run down the street without-"

"Maker, no! Ugh, Merrill…you have no idea how _glad_ I was once I got here. Minrathous was a mistake, I tell you! A bleeding disaster! The…the things that I saw in Danarius's mind…" Marian trailed off, shaking her head. "Do you have a way to wipe out memory?"

Merrill hesitated. "Well…"

"Without using blood magic, thank you."

"In that case, then...no. Can't help you there. So…um, what are you going to do now? Will you tell Fenris about this?"

"Are _you? _I've already said that if you run your potty mouth on him about this, I won't help out with your Mirror of Heynonnyno."

"The _Eluvian," _Merrill stressed, clearly gone over this scene many times before.

"Yes…that's precisely what I meant. Ugh, I'm going home," said Marian with a shudder, "and I'll be taking not one, but _two_ baths. I'll scrub my whole skin off until I turn inside out. If there's a way for me to _flay_ my eyeballs to stop seeing what I did, then that'll be an improvement. Afterwards, Varric and I will have a long chat over dinner. Maker knows I owe him one."

It turned out she didn't have to wait for dinner, because he came to her instead.

"Varric," she said.

"Hawke," he replied, striding over to sit on the stool beside her bathtub. "What, no squeaky ducky to make you bathtime more fun?"

"No. I have to make do with a funny-shaped loofah, I'm afraid."

He took the time to study the healing cuts on her face. "Any permanent damage?"

"None whatsoever."

"Where're our Antivan souvenirs? Everyone will get suspicious if you don't give them something, you know." As far as the rest of the gang were concerned, Marian's absence was because she'd gone off on a solo trip to recover from her stress. So far they'd accepted it without question.

"I got something, don't worry. I did find time to shop, you know."

Silence flowed in, broken only by the splashing of water as she fiddled with her washcloth.

"I suppose you're here to say 'I told you so'?" she asked.

"Not that eloquently, but I'll eventually work my way into saying it without really saying it. You know my style."

"Ah, yes." Marian paused, before continuing: "I'm an idiot."

"No big news there, Hawke," the dwarf said dryly. "I take it it didn't go so well? Can't say I'm not glad to see you here, though. You're lucky enough to escape that guy with the skins on your back intact. Now you know why Fenris is _desperate_ enough to avoid capture. Danarius isn't someone you can blow raspberries at and hope he'll forget about it the next morning. This is not some _prank_ you think you can get away with. And now congratulations: you'll have a battalion of Tevinter mercenaries knocking at your door by the end of this week. I hope your ballroom's big enough to accommodate all those people."

All of a sudden, Marian was feeling smaller than an ant. "I'm preparing the canapés as we speak," she whispered.

"I'm starting to believe you have nine lives. The amount of trouble you get yourself into is enough to kill anyone, but evidently someone up there really likes you. Buttered the Maker up real nicely with your prayers, have you? Well make sure you put in a good word for me too, because Hawke, you're really a handful for just me to take care of."

"I - did you send someone off after me while I was there?"

"I may have leaked some information towards a certain group of individuals invested in your safety."

"You sent _fangirls, _Varric."

"Only the best for the Champion of Kirkwall," he shot back wryly. "You're stopping this stupid plan of yours, Hawke. I know why you're doing this, and-"

"Oh, do you now?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. You feel as if everything's gone completely out of your hands, what with your mother's passing and all…and you need to regain some semblance of control back into your life. You turn Fenris into a pet project – him being the sad, helpless creature that he is – and try to _solve_ his problems for him. Well let me tell you right now he won't appreciate what you've done once he finds out about this. He's not some endangered species you adopt and…and _coddle, _Hawke. His pride won't allow you to help him with things he can do himself."

"Yes, but-"

"He's not the one who needs saving here, Hawke. It's _you. _And while you think it's fun running around and protecting people at the drop of a helmet, I believe there's someone else who deserves a little bit more of your attention. In case you're a bit slow on the uptake, here's a _big_ hint: he's got his late mother's ring around your pretty little finger. Maker knows you've already had your share of losses, so make sure you don't lose this one man as well. It's time you stop chasing after something that's no longer there and focus instead on what's right in front of your eyes."

She stared at him, for once unable to think of a comeback. A severe Varric is a scary sight, especially when he's saying things she didn't want to hear.

"Go on. Be angry at me," said the dwarf. "Doesn't matter to me. I'm only doing this because I'm your friend and I _care_ about you. If it means dishing out some tough love and wounding your itty-bitty pride in process, then so be it. Last time I checked, that's what _real_ friends do."

"Varric, you're…" she sighed, shaking her head before continuing: "You're the most incredible bastard I've ever known."

He suddenly chuckled. "I love you too, Hawke."

Silence flowed back into their conversation.

Her voice came…hesitantly, slowly: "I went on this mission thinking that maybe I could find something to help Fenris remember his past…but now I wish I've never left. I don't blame him for wanting to forget. It's not all sunshine and daisies over there."

"Gosh, it's not?" Varric asked, feigning surprise.

"Anders was right when he called him a maniac."

"What? Hey now…don't say that. You know that ain't right."

Marian treated him with one of her wide-eyed stares. For a dwarf who collected facial expressions in the same way as one collects butterflies, Varric had come to label that particular look as _'I'm going to tell you something you'd probably not like'_. "I helped my father break Carver out of jail once. Did I tell you that?"

Ah, not so bad. "No, you didn't. What happened?"

"I was privy to some of the…creative methods of Templar interrogations while I was there."

"What, did they whip out the pocket-sized branding irons? Or the foldable torture rack?"

"No. It's all rather strange at first. The guards would drag out some of the prisoners and either made them stand or squat against a wall for days. Some got put out in the snow, forced to kneel until they faint. In the holding blocks, they'd bang on the cell doors and raise this awful ruckus. If there's a woman, they'd strip and take turns molesting her."

"I'm liking this picture already," said Varric grimly.

"Sometimes they'd dunk stubborn prisoners in water...but dead men can't tell you the names of every apostate they knew, so it was hardly used. There were even these tiny bunker cells in the walls I'd mistakenly thought to be storage space…until Father told me what they keep in there. Any person brought out from those bunks was either mad, dead or just about ready to tell the Templars _anything._ However, their favourite method was they'd make a lot of noise in the holding blocks before hauling the prisoners off for questioning. Five minutes, Varric…just five minutes there and I was ready to bail out. Lucky thing Father was there to keep me stable."

Varric gave a low whistle. "A mage venturing into Templar territory. Now I know where you got your reckless head from, Hawke. I take it the three of you managed to get out…?"

"Yes. Obviously Father can't use magic, so we had to resort to…other methods." Marian suddenly gave him a wry smile. "If you ever need a good Templar impersonator, look me up."

"I hear it's a scream in kiddie birthday parties."

She chuckled, but her expression quickly turned serious. "Carver suffered from sleep depravation. He was hallucinating by the time we got him. Afterwards he told us he wasn't allowed a minute of rest while he was there. The noise kept him awake, and just when he was about to doze off, they'd enter his cell and start interrogating him. Mental torture…hah. Just another one of the Templars' bright ideas to break prisoners. The bastard of that plan is it never leaves a mark, so if anyone ever came out claiming Templar brutality, they'd just say they never laid a finger on that person. It's all starting to make sense to me now."

"What is?"

"What Hadriana did to Fenris. Starvation, verbal abuse and yes…sleep depravation. They're ways of hurting him without hurting her. They may sound petty once you've dragged it out into the light of day, but when you're alone and stripped of your rights, it's an entirely different story altogether. He sure can't complain. Who'd believe the word of a slave, anyway? Who'd fight for them in the middle of Tevinter? She's a magister's star pupil and arse licker. Fenris, in his state of amnesia believes whatever cockamamie backstory Danarius fed him and thinks him as the greatest thing since…since sliced bread. Okay, it's a rotten analogy…but I'm just too angry for words, Varric. He was manipulated and humiliated beyond measure, and the worse part was he'd _allowed_ it. Danarius wasn't lying, you know. Fenris really worshipped that man once. Intimately so."

The unspoken word crystallized in the air between them, shattered only when Varric said: "You sure?"

"I _saw_ it. _Everything. _Merrill's potion was far more effective than I thought. I ended up drawing out too many snakes from that blasted viper's mind, and now I wish _I_ have amnesia." Marian let out a frustrated sigh. The term she was looking for, if there really were such things in her world, was Stockholm's Syndrome. She didn't have a handy psychologist who'd helpfully quote Jungian theories to prove her point…but if she did, then colourful things like 'borderline personality disorder' and 'prolonged trauma' would pop up and make a cheery Fenris-shaped Pandora's box.

She went on: "I swear, the next time I set foot anywhere in Tevinter soil is only to kill every blasted magisters over there. I think it was during his stay with the Fog Warriors that made Fenris realize the full scale of damage Danarius had done to him. I'm guessing that's where he gets all that angsty rage everybody go bat crazy about."

"Including yourself, I take it?" said Varric wryly. "This is really far more twisted than we originally thought. What're you going to do now?"

"Honestly? I don't know, Varric. How do _you_ see the world after knowing all of that?"

"Humorously, I'd hope."

"What?"

"Stay your anger and save your fight for when it really matters. For now, we'll smile and laugh…hopefully that will make the world better bit by bit. Don't go all broody on me now, Hawke. It's bad enough we have Fenris for that."

"Heh, funny."

"You need to start by getting out of that tub before you catch a cold. Everybody should be waiting at the Hanged Man by now. How're your wounds healing up? Got another scar to add to your collection?"

"Huh, what's mine compared to the ones Fenris has? I'm telling you, Varric: the worst scars are the ones in the mind."

* * *

><p>The occasional rustling of pages and the <em>scritch scritch<em> of quills running marathons across dry parchments were the only things that broke the silence of the Chantry library. Naturally, the customary cough and swish of robes as sisters and lay brothers floated about with their business punctuated this otherwise austere orchestra of quietness.

It was precisely during moments like this that King Alistair would seriously contemplate screaming his head off. Not a lot of people know this, of course…and those that did had no plans on telling anyone anytime soon.

Sister Bridgette made her way towards Sister Petrice and gently nudged her elbow.

"Yes?"

"It's the Satinalia nativity play, Sister Petrice. You wanted something different, so I asked the orphans and this is what they suggested."

Sister Petrice took the proferred parchment, read what was on it, and smiled widely.

"Go with it," she said.

"But, surely Grand Cleric Elthina would-"

"She will be informed."

"Very well, then."

Sister Petrice offered another crafty smile to herself as she resumed her work. It shall be the best damned nativity play ever.

* * *

><p>Episode the next: Anders pulls a Sherlock Holmes<p> 


	16. Anders Uncovers the Shocking Truth

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

><p>It may come as a surprise to anyone who were not near and dear to Anders, but when he wasn't too busy thinking happy thoughts about Templars, he was a rather shrewd observer when it came to matters of the heart.<p>

Usually he wouldn't concern himself with other people's love affairs, but when it came to Marian, a woman he'd considered rather important to him, he couldn't help but sit up and take notice.

And notice things he did, especially after the most recent turn of events. Everyone, including himself, welcomed her with open arms when they met at the Hanged Man. They were busy quizzing her about her Antivan trip that he was positive he was the only person in the room who was actually watching her. A skeptical brow raised at the rather overenthusiastic displays of affection she'd been showering Sebastian (not that the lucky bastard had any reason to complain); the lingering touches she gave Fenris whenever she dared, and more importantly – the sorrowful expression colouring her face everytime she looked away. Anders could write an entire volume's worth of manifestos about the pantomime unfolding before him.

For the third time that evening, she caught the healer's gaze. He raised his drink in mock salute and gave her a rather knowing smile. She made no comment about this, tossing him a wink instead and resuming her fondling activities with her fiancé.

Fiancé. Hah. Anders almost spat into his mead at the thought of the word. It never occurred to him that Hawke would settle for someone like Sebastian, but if there was anyone who could play the hen-pecked husband part to the tee, it would be him. For all his faults, that man was genuinely devoted to her. Maybe that's what she really wanted.

Anders'd never blame her, naturally. Fenris was too volatile to be pinned down, and the mage could still recall those times when they both were tentatively labeled 'Courting'. Nobody really knew when they'd upped that status to 'Bonking', but of course it shifted to 'Leaving' before Hawke could put her knickers back on.

It was certainly a far cry from what he was witnessing right now. It was as if Sebastian was determined to give her everything she was sorely missing from the past few years. Anders couldn't help but imagine Fenris festering inside everytime he saw the two of them together. _Hah, serves you right, you poncy elf. The shoe's on the other foot now, eh?_

The healer let out an ill-timed laughter during a serious part of the gang's conversation. Apparently Hawke was talking about how she felt after her mother's funeral. Shooting a mantra of apologies to the parade of dirty looks before him, he settled back in his seat and attempted to pay attention to what she was saying.

The evening ended in a rather jovial mood. Everyone was glad that Hawke's back to her usual self, and with promises of meeting up again the next day, they all went their separate ways.

Anders was usually a late sleeper. There were still so many notes he had to jot down, and he needed to sort out his thoughts before he turned in for the night. Thus it came as an absolutely no surprise to him when his lone candle guttered and a dark shape suddenly darted inside his clinic.

Instead of screaming 'Templars!' and rushing for his secondary escape route inside the privy, he calmly dipped his quill inside the inkwell and said, without looking up: "Don't tell me – you're pregnant."

"What?" asked the nonplussed Marian as she pushed back her hood.

"That's the only reason you're marrying Sebastian, aren't you? He's gotten you knocked up and to save your honour, he proposed. Come on, that's a classic unlikely romance setup if I haven't seen one."

She pondered over this unexpected piece of fuzzy logic before saying: "Is this part of your manifesto?"

With a smile, he finally looked at her. "Anything I can help you with, Hawke?"

"You've been looking at me all funny at the Hanged Man," she replied, settling down on a chair and thumping both her feet onto his desk. "Care to share what was that all about?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize there's a proper way of looking at you now," he smirked. "Don't tell me you're here just for _that?" _

She sighed. "Stop playing rotten buggers with me, Anders."

"Am I right or not?"

"If there's a way to make little sprogs without the technicalities, then I'd sure like to hear it. Or not."

Anders gaped, a sense of wicked glee spreading through his innards which surprised him. "Am I to understand that the two of you haven't...?"

"A lady never tells," said Marian, although her tone had taken a rather wintry feel.

"Oh hoho!" he sniggered. "So Sebastian's really invested in this whole second virginity thing! I told him it's hogwash, but he goes on and on about abstaining and keeping himself pure for his wedding night. To be honest, he sounds like he's the girl in your relationship. Maker, maybe he IS one! Maybe that's the real reason he hasn't bonked you yet- ow!"

Anders rubbed the spot where a roll of parchment had bounced off his head.

"Care to try that again," said Marian grimly. It wasn't a question.

"Look, while I'm not entertaining the illusion that you don't know what you're doing sometimes-"

"I don't, actually."

"-I can't help but feel that something is seriously wrong between the three of you."

"Huh, says the pot to the kettle."

"It's obvious that Fenris-" Anders visibly gagged at this point, "-_loves_ you-"

"And Sebastian doesn't?"

"Oh, come on! You're not fooling any of us with that 'eyes meeting across the crowded room' routine you've been pulling with that lunatic! If there ever were a contest for coquettish glances, the two of you would've been a bloody synchronized team! You clearly have some unfinished business with him, so my question is: _what the Fade are you doing with Sebastian?"_

"Excellent detective work, Anders. Where did you learn to get nosy all of a sudden? It's none of your business, alright? You've never cared before, and unless you're a closet Fenris fan, I don't see any reason why you'd get yourself all worked up over this. It's done. I've already decided. I'm marrying Sebastian, so deal with it."

"Oh, I'm not the one 'dealing with it', trust me." They glared at each other. "I know what it's like, Marian."

"Well, congratulations," she snapped. "If there's a sappy tale coming up, I swear I'll-"

"I was in love with the Fereldan Queen."

"Bless you, Anders. I didn't realize you've a thing for the Blooming Rose tranvestites."

"No, I mean THE Queen. Alistair's wife."

That made her pause. "You're joking."

"No, it's true. I've travelled with her before, you know. During my Grey Warden days."

Marian continued staring. He'd hardly talked about that part of his life.

His eyes took on a misty gaze of recollection as he went on: "Ah, hunting down the Architect, tramping through the Blackmarsh...you know, you could almost forgive her after a full day's work of scraping Darkspawn bits off your boots once you've really seen her in action. She's a woman worth watching. I could spend days just looking at her twirl those swords…" He paused, suddenly realizing something. "This is before I met you, of course...but I remember thinking to myself: can there ever be another woman as captivating as her? She'd saved my backside twice, I've observed hers countless of times...and after all that, she gave me Ser Pounce-A-Lot."

"Your...cat?"

"Yes. Why does it seem so hard to believe?"

"I thought he was your imaginary friend!"

"He's about as imaginary as that walking flea continent you call Dog!"

"Alright, so you had Warden wet dreams about her. Does she fancy you back?"

"Are you mad? Of course she doesn't. Why'd she want a runaway mage when she's already got a nifty king warming her bedsocks at home?"

"Hm...and you wonder why I chose Sebastian?"

Anders gaped. "This is what it's all about, isn't it? Oh, I know all about his Starkhaven ambitions. All thanks to your prodding, I might add."

"Sebastian is the kind of man who actually knows what he wants. He just needs other people to help reinforce that. I didn't do anything that he didn't initially set out to do in the first place. As for you, I know what your problem is."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"You've a sick preversion for other men's wives."

"WHAT?"

"You heard me. Is that what this is all about, then?"

Anders felt he ought to rewind the conversation before it got further out of hand. "You're playing the oldest trick in the book, Hawke. You've never cared for Sebastian. You're just stringing him along just so you could _use_ him. But to what end?"

Marian let out an unexpected shout of laughter. "My dear Anders, you're picking rabbits out of clouds as always. There's no 'stringing along' involved!"

"Really?" said the mage, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Say you love him, then. Go on."

With as much cherubic innocence and sincerity of a politician, she squarely met his gaze and said: "I love him."

"Hah!"

Marian was about to protest, but Feynriel's unwanted words crept up and nipped her backside. He'd said that she was a greedy opportunist. Was she really that mercenary? Everything she'd done - from dragon slaying to mabari hunting - was just another job for her. Do these people honestly expect her to rescue everyone and not cut a bit of – okay, a _marginally_ large profit out of this? It's all business. It'd take a really stupid person indeed to do her job purely out of altruistic reasons. If that moron ever exists, why she'll cut off her pinky finger!

Her self-assured grin faded as a face floated up from her thoughts like a macabre rubber ducky. Of course. It _has_ to be him: that proverbial knight in white armour. The one who held the unshakable belief that for all her faults, she was still capable of being good. She'd never believed that faith could move mountains, but for Sebastian, he could put hundreds of intrepid sherpas out of work if he wanted to. It broke her heart everytime the man looked at her with such _pride, _such trust. The love and concern shining in his eyes was enough to make her vomit.

For someone who was exposed to a much crueler palette of humanity, Marian found him such an alien concept.

She suddenly felt very, very dirty.

She spoke, rather hesitantly: "I always keep a pack of spare clothes and rations under my bed, even now. Being on the run your entire life teaches you that. I'd wake up, every night at three, half-expecting Templars to bang down my door anytime. You can imagine what that's like, can't you?"

Anders said nothing, but nodded instead.

"We're really no different from those…those criminals we fight everyday. Everybody does what they can to survive."

He frowned at this. "So, you're saying that it's alright to be slavers, rapists…?"

She sighed. "I worked for smugglers just to get a foot inside this bloody city, Anders…so I'm really not in a position to be snooty here. Look, nobody wakes up and decides to be evil over their morning coffee…unless if you're the Archdemon, of course."

Anders briefly entertained an image of the dragon, smoking gently in the nostrils as it pored over the funnies section in the Chantry pamphlet while a claw curled around its cup of java. He banished those thoughts away by saying: "What's your point?"

"I'm a criminal! You've caught me. Sebastian's my wild card in case I don't get the Viscountess job. How much leverage do you think a Champion of Kirkwall could get while this blasted political storm is waiting to blow up in our laps? I'm not popular among the upper crusts, Meredith certainly doesn't think much about me, and Orsino? Nothing much to say about him, really. Frankly, I think none of the above is such a great tragedy."

"Then what is?"

"Being stripped."

"Huh?"

Anders actually recoiled in his seat when Marian turned her gaze towards him. He knew she wasn't seeing him, but rather the demons haunting her past.

"…of your rights, your freedom, your identity," she said. "Being a minority, turned into shadow people and left to fall through the cracks of Darktown. Commiting genocide just because your god says it's alright. You know, I honestly think that religion is the greatest evil in the world. You see tin soldiers marching down the streets with their pikes and you can bet there'll be a pillock in a funny hat waving his codex and saying it's part of the bloody third commandment. The list just goes on and on. Do you want me to continue?"

"Er…well-"

"Being locked up in a tower just after your sister got back from her expedition. And your mother blames her…blames her for every bad thing that's ever happened to the family. Says that she wasn't strong enough, or cared enough. It's a neverending list of what I'm not doing enough, Anders. And now that she's dead, those voices kept going on and on inside my head…so much so that I feel like bludgeoning myself to death. Do you know what it's like?"

"I can honestly say I don't, Hawke." Anders swallowed hard. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't-"

"Realize? No one does, actually. I've talked about this to Bethany. Told her I'm getting her out, but she's completely against the idea, of course. And to think that Father worked so hard to make sure that we never got caught…" she paused, shaking her head. When she spoke next, it was with absolute certainty: "Nobody's locking my sister up. She was punished without a trial, for sins she didn't commit except to exist. Is it really that bad? Huh, no wonder us humans are making friends left, right and centre. We create so many enemies that the only real ones are those inside our heads."

"I see it now," Anders said grimly. "This has been, and will always be, about Bethany, isn't it?"

"You don't have a voice if you're nobody, and Fenris is…well Fenris. He wouldn't understand. Now you know why I'm with Sebastian?"

"But he's part of the Chantry!" Anders argued. "What makes you think he'd be sympathetic? Sure, he tolerates mages as long as they know their place…but his moral compass is stuck towards the church, and that is something even _you_ can't change!"

"Who says he has to know?"

Anders pressed his palms together and seemed for all the world as if he was praying. "So you're…what? Secretly squirrelling Bethany out after the wedding? Silence can be bought, even more so by the future Princess of Starkhaven. Starkhaven's Circle has collapsed, and they won't be mopping up for stray mages over there since most have been sent here. She'd be – and I use this word lightly – _relatively_ safe. I also know you've got a few Templars in your pocket for calling in favours. Forgery and blackmail will definitely be part of the menu. What happens afterwards? The two of you ride off to your shiny palace and live happily ever after? How'd you expect to explain all that to your husband?"

For a moment, she seemed uncertain, but she quickly smoothed it over with one of her jaunty smiles. "You know me, Anders. I like to figure things out as I go along."

"Sebastian's not even a prince yet, and without a Viscount's support, he can't even put a foot in Starkhaven without Goran's men taking potshots at his head. _You're_ not taking over Dumar's office while Meredith's there, so I'd say you're both banking on titles you haven't got yet." Anders leaned back, shaking his head. "I hope your plan B is far more intelligent than this one. You marry, get Bethany out, ride on your Champion status for a while…and then what? What if it doesn't work out? You'll find your Political Power Couple dream home dashed before you even know it."

"Who says we only need Kirkwall to retake Starkhaven? You're seeing the glass as half-empty, Anders."

"Somebody clearly didn't do her homework. Didn't you know that Kirkwall's one of the major players in Starkhaven's economy?" The look on her face indicated that she, without a smidgeon of doubt, did not. "Why partake a business venture – and believe me when I say this will eventually turn into one – without backing from your biggest investors?"

Marian was clearly having one of those surreal nights. There she was, in Lowtown, discussing politics with _Anders _of all people. It's like listening to a human-shaped Varric.

"How'd you know so much, anyway?" she asked, annoyed.

"Remember that time you sent me and Sebastian off to look for Harlot's Blush at the Wounded Coast? Well, we were caught in a storm and had to take shelter in one of the caves. He wanted to have none of my Chantry bashing, so we talked about his home instead. I ended up swapping my mother's nug roast recipe for his blasted fish and egg pie. Hah, imagine that."

"Well, at least you've managed to stop from killing each other."

Anders sighed. "Marian, I'd very much like to commend you for your honourable intentions towards Bethany, I really do. Bloody hell, I'd _help_ you in any way I could should you ask for it. But – _Maker, I can't believe I'm saying this_ – I honestly think you're walking down a dangerous path here."

She chuckled. "You make it sound like I'm joining the Darkspawn or something-"

"You're building a house of cards, Marian. This plan is flimsier than a Mabari crunch. Sebastian's a…steerable man, but he's definitely not stupid. He'll see right through this, and if that's not bad enough for you, Templars _will_ bang your door at three o'clock in the morning for harbouring an apostate. You'll be back to your old life before you even know it! Do you really want Bethany to go through all that again?"

Marian yanked herself up from her seat. "What do you expect me to do, then?" she shouted, revealing a rare bout of anger. She began pacing about like a trapped animal. "Twiddle my thumbs up my arse while she remains in the Circle for the rest of her life? What kind of solution is that? You know, I've had you figured out as someone who'd understand, but I guess this is all a mistake. I never should have come here in the first pl-"

Before he knew it, Anders was on his feet and striding towards her.

"Marian," he said, firmly gripping her shoulders and forcing her to face him. "I never said you shouldn't do it…but you have to realize that this is no longer just about you and Bethany-"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Maker…here we go again."

"_Listen,"_ he said, giving her a little shake. "Mage liberation could be far sooner than you imagined."

It was her turn to look at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Ignoring the dark rumblings of Justice, he soldiered on: "I mean, that you are the closest friend I've ever had in years. Look…mages are hot topic at the moment, and anything to do with them should be treated with care. You, with your clear reluctance towards taking any sides except those of your own, should stay clear of this. I will think of a better solution, I promise."

"You'd better not be doing something crazy, like blowing up the Chantry or something…"

"Why would I do that, Marian? _You're_ the demolition expert around here."

"Says the one with the sparky fingers."

With her hackles more or less smoothed down, Anders allowed himself a secret sigh of relief. It wouldn't do for her to take action before he did…

_The bitch knows…_

"Far from me to judge your reasons for marrying Sebastian," he said gently. "I'm not going to tell you to reconsider, or – hah – factor in his feelings about this. Frankly speaking, I don't give a fig about him. Maybe we all are criminals like you said. Maybe it takes one wrong to make a right…who's really sure about these things?"

Marian sniffed, and said rather sulkily: "It's rather late to be discussing ethics."

"You're right. You should get going."

She headed towards the door. A thought struck her, and she stopped. "You know, if this was a romantic comedy, you'd be the cynical and overprotective elder brother."

Anders chuckled. "What if I'm the simple and unassuming friend who's secretly in love with the leading lady?"

Her smile faded a notch. "Anders, that's-"

"Not with you, of course!" he rushed in. "Imagine how SILLY that'd be!" he added, and laughed rather too loudly.

"Yeah. It'd be really _weird…_haha!"

He held back an equally biting response. As if sleeping with psychotic elves and marrying hypocritical milksops wasn't weird enough for anyone.

"Good night, Anders."

The mage waved goodbye, ignoring the spiking pains in his head as Vengeance slithered about.

_You should kill her before she knows too much, _it hissed.

* * *

><p>Episode the next: Sebastian tries a Chantry pickup line on Marian<p> 


	17. The Case of the Missing Painting

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

AN: Gigantic thanks to ChampionTheWonderSnail for loaning me her footsie-playing Knight-Commander Meredith. However, I'm afraid I can't save Knight-Captain Cullen from sexual harassment for long.

* * *

><p>Marian may have made it clear that the Maker occupied a rather tiny space in her heart, but that didn't stop Sebastian from praying otherwise. Thus he was considerably happy when she stormed into the Chantry courtyard that morning and lobbed a rather fat-looking purse to his face.<p>

He effortlessly caught it in one hand. "Ah, the rich sounds of sovereigns rubbing together," he smiled. "But you've already given me my share from our last job, so what is this for?"

"It's not for you," she snapped, arms akimbo. "It's for…charity. Give it to the Blight orphans, three-legged kittens…whatever!"

"Really? How generous of you, Marian," he said. She was close to tears as she gazed at the purse. She really hated wasting money needlessly. "The orphans will benefit greatly from this. They've always wanted a library of their own."

"I don't care, alright? Just consider it my annual tithe."

Sebastian's eyes widened. Marian Hawke devoting part of her income to the Chantry? Will wonders ever cease? "Marian," he breathed. "That's-"

"And you'll be teaching me the Chant of Light," she snarled. "No questions asked. Get me the abridged version. And just so that we're both clear on this: I'm not converting to the Chantry. I'm just…well I'm just curious, that's all. So if you start talking about smiting the righteous and any such rubbish, I'll kick you in the arse!"

Sebastian chuckled. He leaned over and touched her cheek. "I've always known you have a good heart, Marian."

"Yes, well…don't go and post it on the Chantry board. I've got the reputation of a soulless killer to maintain!"

"I shall say no more of this matter," he said, although he couldn't wipe the smile plastered on his face.

"Anyway, shall we give your audience something to look at?"

"What audience?"

Wordlessly Marian jerked a thumb upwards. A group of lay sisters were peering shyly at them from the top balcony. It was common knowledge around the Chantry that everytime Sebastian Vael practiced his archery in the courtyard, a coterie of admirers would be watching. Some young initiates took their praying seriously, and they had no qualms whatsoever about praising the Maker for delivering the dashing archer into their midst.

He extended an arm, and she readily fell into it, expecting nothing more than a quick peck…but his hand tightened around her waist, pulling her into a deep kiss. He plundered her mouth to the collective sighs of their audience. Her toes curled in her boots, strangely thrilled at how inappropriate this may seem. Surely Elthina would pop around the corner at any moment, spitting fire and thunder towards them for desecrating the Chantry?

He released her with a smile. "It's always good to see you, love."

"Was that the Chant of Light's first verse?" she asked breathlessly. "I'm not…I'm not sure."

"Not even close. But I reckon if the Maker were to write a Chant specially for Andraste, it'd probably sound something like that."

"Are you...did you just feed me a Chantry pickup line?"

"What? No, nothing like that. Did it sound like one?"

She leaned over and prodded his bicep playfully. "You'd better not be trying it on every lay sister you meet."

"Marian, that's ridiculous," he said, horrified. "I would _never_ do that. Why are you laughing?"

"You're funny when you're serious. Anyway, picure this: you, me, the Keep, right now."

"What for?"

"Battling the second greatest scourge ever known to mankind: paperwork."

The Champion of Kirkwall may have done a great service to the city, but nothing in Thedas could help her escape the intricacies of bureaucratic procedures. She'd thought that getting married was easy enough, but she didn't realize that people had to be _licenced_ just to walk up the altar.

"Branny baby!"

Seneschal Bran's expression wound down to a degree where it could cause stormclouds.

"Champion," he bit out icily.

Without waiting for an invitation, Marian took a seat. She motioned for Sebastian to do the same.

"So," she beamed, leaning forth, "How have you been?"

"Swimmingly, until you decided to darken my doorway. How may I be of service, Champion?"

"Ahh, see…" she said, waggling a finger at him, "this is what I like about you: always ready to serve. Don't you just love an obliging man, Sebastian?"

"Er-" said Sebastian, feeling as if he was several chapters behind their conversation. "I suppose."

The corners of Seneschal Bran's mouth turned southwards even further. "I'm a busy man, Hawke."

"I bet you are," quipped Marian. "Listen, I need a tiny favour. In case you haven't heard, we're getting married-"

"My deepest condolences."

"Haha, funny. Isn't he funny, Sebastian? Here's something even funnier. Trust me: you'll laugh your head off. See I've been so _swamped_ for the past few weeks - family funeral, skull bashing, toe stepping and the general act of saving Kirkwall from going up in flames-" Marian sucked in a breath, "You know: usual stuff. Anyway, I've completely forgotten to file for a marriage license. Who would've thought, right? Little old scatterbrained me? Ahaha!"

"Do I see a point around the corner?" deadpanned Senechal Bran.

A hand plonked down a stained and crumpled paper smelling faintly of brimstone before him. "As a matter of fact: yes," she said. "I've filled in all the details here, so if you could just sign your approval toot sweet, I'd be most appreciative."

"Did you drop this in the Blackmarshes?" sneered the Seneschal as he gingerly nudged the offending document away from him with a quill.

"No, a dragon swallowed it. I had the devil of a time getting it back, too."

"Do I look like a Marriage Registrar to you?"

Marian made a theatrical attempt of studying his face. "Hm, no. You look tired and extremely pissed off. I wonder what could've happened. You're usually such a firecracker. Haven't had another tiff with, um…whatsername, Serendipity…have you?"

"Hawke, if you think you can use your Champion status to bypass the system, then-"

"I'm absolutely right! Oh, come on, Branny. Don't hold out on me now. We're old chums, remember?"

"I try not to," the Seneschal muttered darkly.

"If you do this, I'll seat you at the main table during the reception party. It'll be fun! We can share Qunari cheese fondue, and I'm pretty sure there'll be a shrimp salad somewhere-"

"No, there isn't," said Sebastian.

Her head snapped towards him. "There isn't what, love?"

"We've never discussed the reception menu, much less the person who will be giving you away at the altar."

Marian seemed momentarily confused. "Can't I just give myself away?"

"Well, there's no law that says you can't…but it wouldn't do to have the bride walk up there all by herself, no?"

"Sebastian, there'll be at least fifty people there. That can't hardly count as me being alone, can it? Besides, why must we have these things, anyway? Afraid that someone would come and snatch the bride away?"

"That was the general idea when it first came about, yes," he replied, although for the life of him he couldn't imagine anyone mad enough to kidnap the partially armed (on this he was absolutely sure) Marian on her wedding day.

She appeared to be thinking about this before she finally said: "Fenris can do it, then."

"_No."_ The word came out faster than he intended. Sebastian mentally recomposed himself and tried a different tack. "You still have one living uncle, Ma-"

"Don't even _think_ about mentioning him, Sebastian."

"Well, is he at least invited, then?"

"What, and have him bring his drinking friends along? You don't want a rowdy group of middle-aged dotards singing rude tavern songs to the guests, do you?"

Seneschal Bran cleared his throat. "As _quaint_ your prenuptial discussion may be to me, I really do have pressing matters to attend to. I will see what I can do with your…application. Frankly speaking, if it ever needed approval from a dragon, then you'd have it by now."

Marian beamed. "I _knew_ I could count on you! You're such a reliable man, Bran. How about _you_ give me away?"

The man visibly shuddered. The idea was as attractive as an Alpha Genlock. "I'm honoured, Hawke…but I believe I'm ill-suited for such a role."

She chuckled. "Nonsense! You're practically old enough to be my father!"

The murderous glare he gave her daunted her not one bit. If anything, it made her add, a tad flippantly: "If you had me when you were 10, that is."

Not for the first time Seneschal Bran wondered if this was really the legendary Champion people were yammering about. She seemed oblivious as a guppy, swimming in the seething acid tank of Kirkwall politics. He couldn't imagine what it'd be like to have her as his boss, but during those times that he actually did, his mind simply shuts down. If Hawke ever get to become Viscountess (which he seriously doubted), why he'd forswear his Blooming Rose visits for good!

Sebastian ended the conversation by getting to his feet. "If that is all, then we must take our leave," he said. "Thank you for your time, Seneschal Bran."

"But we just got here!" Marian protested, although she followed suit. "We still have a lot to catch up on."

"Hawke," said the Seneschal. He'd pulled out something from his drawer and was sliding it towards her on the desk. It was a scroll casing.

She brightened up considerably. "For me? Oh, Branny…you shouldn't have!"

"Everything is there," he said, keeping his steely gaze on her. "As per our previous agreement."

She gleefully scooped up the casing. "I know. I'm going to trust you by not checking."

"You should be aware that our arrangement is not permanent. There's only so much I can do. I'm already under Meredith's scrutiny as it is. Why don't you find ways to bother her instead?"

"Oh, I'm working on that, trust me. But playing footsie with Knight-Captain Cullen during a staff budget meeting is hardly enough for me pounce on, don't you think?"

In the stunned silence that followed, she offered him a jaunty two-fingered salute and skipped out of his office.

Sebastian followed her to the sunlit streets of Hightown. There was a noticeable spring to her steps as she fluttered her way past the snooty parade of nobles.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding towards the casing.

"This? Oh, it's just a small favour," she said.

"You two seem very familiar with each other."

"We do, don't we? We bonded at the Blooming Rose and things just happened afterwards."

Sebastian frowned. There were a few things that sounded wrong in her sentence and he picked the most suspicious one. "Bonded?"

"It was purely business, mind you. Nothing personal at all. I'm sure somebody untied him shortly afterwards."

"Untied?" He grabbed her elbow and pulled her to a stop. "What exactly is going on here, Marian?"

"Politics, darling. Something you should get used to. Bran thinks I don't know about Meredith harassing him. That man's frightened, and I can tell because he gets nastier everytime he does."

"Marian, I've said this before and I'm going to say it again. I'm not comfortable with your rather dodgy ways of conducting business. What other 'arrangements' have you been doing with him?"

Marian frowned. "Oh, will you just calm down? I didn't shag him, if that's what you're thinking. Besides, how else do you expect me to do things? I always get results, and that's the most important part, right? You can't wave your holy belt buckle about and hope for the best."

"All I'm saying is there's always another way."

"And all I'm saying is if everything can be achieved with a prayer, then I'd be the Grand Cleric by now. Are we done talking about this?"

He reluctantly let her go, but his posture clearly said that he wasn't done. He hoarded unpleasant conversation topics like a squirrel, springing it up later on when anyone least expected it. It annoyed her no end, but she'd chalked it up as another habit to kick and pound into submission.

"Where to next?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Betrothal gift," she said. "It's traditional."

He frowned. "I didn't get-"

"Nooo…it's for you, silly. It's locket-sized too, so you can bring it anywhere with you." Marian paused, studying his expression. "You're still upset. I'm sorry."

"You know I believe that despite your actions, your heart's in the right place…"

"I certainly hope it is, yes."

"But sometimes…"

"What?"

He sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm wrong."

* * *

><p>Episode the Next: Lottery time for Fenris. He gets a date AND a house.<p> 


	18. Nocturnal Tryst

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

><p>"Faith? Hah! Why bet on something you can't see? I'd rather believe in sovereigns, contracts, a well-fitting pair of boots...all that stuff. What does he get off from talking about a holy dead woman, anyway?"<p>

"An interesting, albeit weak observation."

"What?"

It was chilly up at the Chantry rooftop, but it offered a breathtaking view of Kirkwall. Marian had only been up there once, and she spent a good two hours watching birds freewheeling over the spires while sun-bleached Chantry pennants flapped and chattered to the wind. The echoing tolls from the bell tower rolled, danced and did backflips over the city, reminding people that the Maker will only be there for them if they were there for Him. She'd scoffed at that idea. It was nothing more than religious _quid pro quo_ nonsense.

However, she wouldn't loathe to admit that it was amongst the fossilized pigeon guano and severe statues depicting righteous might that she truly felt at peace with herself. Hah, the irony of it all.

She'd waited till nightfall before she brought Fenris there. Breaking into the Chantry was easy enough, so did slipping past the cordoned stairwell. They were now at the top, him leaning against the parapet while she squatted over the railing like a gargoyle, venting out her frustrations for the day.

"What about love?" he asked.

"What about it?"

"You can't see it. So is your soul. If it's not important to you, why do you guard it with your life?"

"I happen to like living, thank you very much. Stop changing the the subject, Fenris."

"I'm not. I'm merely pointing out a flaw to your logic. Do you not think that faith is important to him?"

She stared at him. "I thought you don't believe in this whole Andraste religion rot! Stop taking his side!"

Fenris paused, picking his words carefully. "It is not that I don't believe. I'm just…selective as to what I allow myself to accept. I do not follow as blindly as Sebastian does."

"Hmph, that much I can tell. Why can't he be more like you?"

"He wouldn't be Sebastian, then."

For the first time that night, she laughed. It was a pretty sound. He had to remember that everytime he missed her.

"I've been thinking about Shartan…" he said.

Her face lit up. "Finally finished that book, eh? How was it?"

"Very…empowering. However, I can't help but wonder…"

"What?"

"He'd helped Andraste with her struggles, and she with him. Could it be possible that somewhere along the way that he might find himself attracted to her? Historical accounts always omit such things."

Marian shrugged. "Maybe. It'd be interesting if they added in the romance bits. However, I think he'd be up against tough opponents. She's married, for one thing…and don't forget the Maker had a thing for her as well."

"Hm, yes," he said, his eyes falling on the hand where he knew her engagement ring would be.

"But it'd make a great story, nonetheless. Hey, how about we write a fanfiction about her and Shartan? _The Passionate Affairs of a Holy Temptress,_" she said, sweeping her arms forth as if picturing the whole scenario out to him. "_Shartan Between the Sheets._ Hehe, it has a nice ring to it."

Fenris snorted. "_You_ do it. I refuse to claim a part in this mad scheme of yours."

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun! We can pick brilliant pen-names, and-"

"As if Broody wasn't enough for me."

"Fine. We'll call you _Mopey _Dick, then. I shall be…hmm…what _do_ I call myself?"

Fenris shook his head, unwilling to continue with this topic. "You mentioned a burglary this afternoon," he said.

"Oh! Yes, well here's what happened: I went with Sebastian to collect my betrothal portrait…you know, the one Mother commissioned? Anyway, when we got there, the painter said it was gone! His studio's apparently been ransacked, and my portrait's among the few things the thieves made off with. They've even taken Numnums! How appalling!"

"Should I even know what this Numnums is?"

"It's a chincilla. Ugliest thing I've ever seen…and I've only seen one. Apparently posh ladies enjoy posing with this rodent-mabari lovechild."

"But not you?"

"Of _course _not, you ninny! Do I even look posh to you? No, don't answer that. Anyway, I got a bit upset and might have threatened him for a refund, but Sebastian stepped in and somehow managed to negotiate a free wedding portrait deal. Platinum edition too, with genuine gold-gilded frame and orichalcum dusting to withstand magical attacks. Probably the only thing he didn't get was the royal trumpeters and bloody fat cherubin archers." She paused, sighing. "See, that's the thing he has which _I_ don't. People simply trust him. If he was a highwayman, he'd say 'Hand over your money' and it'd be raining bloody sovereigns in a minute."

Fenris chuckled darkly. He felt a sudden shift in the air. Marian had leapt off the parapet and landed lightly beside him.

"Anyway, I've got a surprise for you," she said, dusting her hands off.

"You do?"

She pulled out something from her person and handed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked, fingering the still warm parchment.

"Just read it."

"It's too dark to do so."

"Oh, boohoo. Use your talents, Glow Boy."

Glaring at her, he began to flare. The unmistakable stink of magic invaded her nostrils, making her sniff distastefully.

Slowly and painfully he began dissecting the contents of the document. It sounded official, and the Keep's seal at the bottom confirmed it. As he navigated the foggy seas of legal jargon, Marian amused herself by making shadow puppets against the glow reflected on the walls.

"I…don't understand," he finally said.

"That precious parchment you're holding, my dear Fenris, is actually a part of history."

"What?"

"Congratulations," she said, warmly clapping him in the back. "You're now the first elf to own property in Hightown. That house you're living in is officially yours."

"But how?"

"You don't have to worry about tax collectors, mercenaries or even _anyone_ who'd try to kick you out ever. Possibly the only thing you'd be bothered with after this are Chantry girl scouts selling cookies for charity. Pretty sweet deal, don't you think?"

"Marian, if you bought this, then it should be you-"

"Whoever said anything about _buying? _You should break out that savings you've been hoarding and start redecorating! I'd be more than happy to help if you need tips on choosing wallpaper colour. Hey, how about building an indoor wading pool just for the heck of it? We can all have a-"

"I cannot accept this," Fenris said stiffly.

"Oh, stuff your pride and _accept_ people's gifts for once! It won't kill you! Besides, you've got to admit that owning something feels good."

"Marian, you've already done so much-"

"And so have you. I still haven't forgotten about you standing up to the Arishok for me. All in all, we're pretty much even. Say 'Thank you, Marian'. Go on."

"But this is-"

"Ah?"

Fenris sagged. "Fine. Thank you, Marian for this wonderful and stupendous gift. I'm guessing it'd be too much for me to ask how you managed to-"

"Not a chance," she purred happily.

"Can you at least tell me why you did this?"

"Because that's what best friends do: get each other embarrassingly expensive gifts."

"Seriously, Marian."

Her grin faded at the tone of his voice. All sobered up, she cast her eyes over the city and found Lowtown, knowing full well what lay within.

"Because I care," she said. "I can't bring the elves out of their third-rate citizen status, but I certainly can start with you. Don't get me wrong…I'm not starting a crusade or anything like that…" she laughed. "I can't change the world overnight."

"But you have changed mine."

"What?"

Darkness descended upon them. Marian stood still for a moment, waiting for the Fenris-shaped corona to fade when she suddenly felt a hand on hers.

"Marian."

"Here," she said, blinking rapidly. "Maker's nuts, Fenris. At least _warn_ me before you switch off!"

"My apologies."

"It's alright. I can see now."

"No, I mean for everything."

She didn't have to ask what 'everything' meant. Placing a palm against his abdomen where the Arishok had impaled him, she remembered how she'd twisted herself into knots with worry as she waited for him to wake up.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Anything."

"I know how you feel about magic…but what about Bethany?"

"What about her?"

"There's been talk about Meredith itching to invoke the Right of Annulment. Do you know what that means?"

"Templars granted the authority to purge Circles and execute mages at will. This will mean a certain death to your sister."

Marian nodded numbly. "Yes, well thank you for putting it in plain terms."

"What are you asking?" he asked in tones of someone knowing where this conversation was heading.

Taking a deep breath and steeling herself for his bout of violent temper, she said: "If, or rather, _when_ that happens and I decide to…defend Bethany…would you support me? You can walk away if you want," she went on as he stepped away from her, a deep frown marring his face as he returned to the parapet. "I just think it's better that we make things clear now so that there won't be any surprises."

"When are you not full of surprises, Marian?"

"I – well, I don't know," she said, grimacing. "Never really thought about that."

The silence stretched between them; making her wonder if she should tiptoe away and leave him to his thoughts, when he suddenly spoke: "I have followed you from the belly of a dragon to the deep recesses of the Fade. There isn't a single place in this life or the next that I wouldn't go for you. I may not be able to understand your choices, but know this: I am a man of my word. If I say I'll remain at your side, I will do so until you command me otherwise."

Marian's breath caught in her throat. "We'll be siding with mages," she said thickly. "_Oodles_ of Templars will be nipping our backsides. Are you…are you sure about this?"

"The way I see it, Marian, you can't go a week without _something_ nipping your backside," he said.

"Yes, well…I'd rather have you doing it," she said, rubbing her neck sheepishly. Looking up, she caught his smirk and realized what she just said. "Er…I mean-"

"I know what you mean," he said. "Never underestimate our companions, Marian. I am no judge, but I think there isn't a single one who wouldn't follow you to the ends of the earth. Except for Anders. That man is up to something, I can feel it."

"Heh, who isn't?" she said, heaving a sigh of relief.

Fenris felt her hand snake into his. He allowed her to lean against him as they both silently stared out to the city.

"I keep imagining this whole place going up in flames," she said. "I don't know what's happening anymore."

"Whatever it is, it'll stay happened."

She nodded, knowing full well that he was right.

* * *

><p>It was already late by the time they left. Marian reached home, closed the front door and banged her forehead repeatedly against it.<p>

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered. "You're making the biggest mistake of your life, Marian."

She spun around, stalked across the foyer and made her way into the library. She needed to do something, _anything_ to stop herself from being reminded that the Starkhaven ring was becoming more like a shackle with each passing day. Everything she had worked for for the past seven blasted years came crashing down with Fenris's words. Damn him. Damn her. Damn _everybody!_

Scrabbling through the parchments on her desk, she began discarding items that were no longer read-worthy. Official invitations, pamphlets, Isabela's nude anatomy drawings…

The inkwell toppled, knocked aside by her clumsy hand and spilling across a letter addressed to Carver. Uttering an oath colourful enough to make Sebastian's ears blush, she frantically hunted for something to blot up the mess.

Someone entered the room, observed her preoccupied form, and decided to make itself known with a tentative "Um…"

Marian looked up, and relief flooded her face. "Oh, it's you. Do you think you can-"

The blinding light came as a surprise, so was the splitting pain to her head. As she fell down the deep tunnel of unconsciousness, she swore she could hear an excited "Enchantment!" before everything went blank.

* * *

><p>Episode the Next: The Return of the Ninja Fangirls<p> 


	19. General Squee Moments

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware

AN: The fangirls Morgan and Megan are merely minor OCs created to foil Danarius's insidious plans. I have mutilated Flora Harimann's character beyond recognition, and for that I apologize in advance.

* * *

><p>If anyone were to do a character study on Danarius, they'll find that he wasn't a complicated man at all. His merit lies on one factor alone: bullheaded determination…and with that as his mantra, he'd set out to reshape the world as he saw fit. For him only one straight line connected him to his future. Any branches or deviations were swiftly pruned away with either a well-aimed fireball or simply a firm prod with his magical staff.<p>

His success so far can only be attributed to the absolute belief that anything and everything should go his way. Megalomania always worked, of course; but sheer cunning and a complete willingness to sell off their own mothers in exchange for supremacy were essential for anyone pursuing a career in the Evil Overlord business.

He was badass. He was invincible. Sure, he had an unhealthy obsession towards a certain elf and he showed it towards any inanimate object he could find…but no damned Templars were ever going to touch him. None of the other Magisters could even reach what he had achieved in the past ten years, and he was planning on achieving more in another ten. But he can't do that without Fenris. His sweet and loving Fenris…

Ah, this was merely a small setback. He's in Kirkwall now, and very soon they'll be reunited. That stupid assassin Hawke will get what was coming for her if she refuses to cooperate. The cold smile on his face was already singing _success, success!; _but what he'd never accounted for was the fact that he had to face yet another opponent who was far tougher than her.

"Are you certain that they know where he'd be next?" he sharply asked the guard bowed before him.

"Yes, ser. They seem perfectly excited about it too."

"Hmm. Bring them in."

The guard reappeared, ushering two girls looking barely out of their teens. They were observing the trimmings of his sumptuous apartment with wide-eyed wonder.

_Hmph, commoners, _Danarius thought to himself. _Nothing more than slave fodder. _

"I understand you have information regarding Fenris," he said haughtily.

Upon mention of his name, the girls grabbed each other's hands and squealed. Loudly.

"Like, oh my Maker, you wouldn't believe!" the first one said.

"We know _everything_ about him. What he eats, who he's with," said the second one. "OhmyMaker, just the other day I saw him at Lowtown, and he smiled at me. Me! I, like, almost _died!" _

"He smiled because Hawke was behind you at that time, stupid! Honestly, Megan."

"You're just jealous because you weren't there, Morgan." The second girl glanced towards Danarius and mouthed _'she's jealous'. _

"So you know where he'll be tomorrow, then?" Danarius asked.

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Well, of course we know! Anyone who's a _real_ fangirl would. But I can tell you where he'll be tonight. The cosplay event. I heard that there'll be a special meet-and-greet session. Ohh, I'm _so_ going to try and get his tunic off." She suddenly stopped and looked at him suspiciously. "You're not going to come and try hog him all to yourself, are you?"

Danarius let out a snort of derisive laughter. "Hog him? What utter nonsense. I _own _him."

"Oh, no no no…you should _never _say things like that," said Megan.

"Why? Because he's a so-called _free slave? _Well, soon he'll realize he never was and he never will be."

"Ugh, you really don't know anything, do you? It's _obvious_ that Hawke owns him. I mean, he's practically her shadow, what with him following her around like that. Y'know, I've seen her come over to his place so many times now. I think they're busy making Fenbabies."

Morgan squealed. "Ooh, so you've been reading Lady Bianca's fanfiction again! Oh, her story's the best! I actually cried during the part where he chased her in the rain and they had hot steamy barn sex afterwards. I mean, that's the part where things got PWP, but who cares? They're canon!"

"But then afterwards she found out she was pregnant with quadruplets and that was really sweet. I really wish Lady Bianca'd update soon. I can't wait to see which one has his puppy eyes."

"D'aww…!"

They clutched each other and - yes, just as Danarius had come to expect and dread – squealed again. It was like having twin foghorns meant to scare away smaller fishing boats dotting the Kirkwall harbour.

The man was bewildered. He'd faced down mages in hostile magical tower takeovers, shook hands with demons over pacts that were made to be broken afterwards, and even squashed the fingers of rivals vying for his position. The only thing he'd never experienced was the joys of fatherhood; a fact that only served to prove how ill-equipped he was when it came to dealing with two uberfrenzied teenagers gushing over his property.

He felt a sudden stab of jealousy. Fenris was _his_ and his alone! No manic girls or future princess of Starkhaven were going to get their filthy hands on him! To reinforce that thought, he thumped his fist onto the table, causing the girls to jump.

"You shall tell me the venue of this…this cospay at once!" he demanded.

"It's cos_play," _said Megan. Upon seeing his expression, she hurriedly added: "It's at the Docks. Warehouse #19. Starts at 7pm. Come dressed up as your favourite Fereldan hero and you'll get a free door gift."

"You look like you're planning some sort of trouble," said Morgan. "You really shouldn't, because then you'll be messing with Hawke. She'd fought the Arishok once and killed him, you know. A person like that you wouldn't want to get on her bad side."

Danarius was getting tired of this. He's developing one of his dreaded migraines, and it's been a while since he last stroked anything worthwhile. Chairs and pillows could only go so far…

"Are you implying," he snarled, "that I should be worried about that insignificant worm Hawke just because she relied on a bag of tricks and a motley band of nugs to win against a stupid Qunari? A fight, which I'd like to add, that I could've finished in _five seconds?"_

Both girls stared at him owlishly. Finally Morgan opened her mouth and said the mantra that effectively summed up the universal stupidity of adults:

"Well, _duh."_

Danarius rubbed his temples.

"Haven't you actually seen her fight?" Morgan went on. "She's really good. _And, _she's got Fenris to kick some serious butt when she's not looking. Everytime he does that magic glowy fisty thing, everyone cheered. Some even asked for an encore! What I don't get is why she's even with that stuffy whatzisface archer when she and Fenris obviously work good together."

The mage had had enough. "Go away. _Go!_ Before I change my mind and pulverize the both of you!"

"Oh, but you can't just walk into the warehouse without the proper password."

He levered one of his deadliest glares towards her, but she proved to be the bolder of the two. "City guard's not supposed to know. Can't do a gathering without the proper permits, see. So this is an underground, strictly-for-fans only thing."

"And you're going to tell me now, or do I have to flay it out of your mind?" he growled.

The girl must've done a lot of internal _'What would Hawke do?'_ roleplay scenarios that she didn't even cower like any normal peasant would.

Instead, she gave him a rather beatific smile.

* * *

><p>Fenris studied the lemon with the same meticulous air as a zoologist observing a strange and unknown species.<p>

"I don't get it," he said, turning the fruit over in his hands. "Why are they called lemons?"

Varric looked up from his rolling plains of ledger books. It was nearing the end of the month and he was up to his elbows with the tricky task of balancing his accounts. "I believe you are referring to that fiction term where it means graphic depictions of sex?" he asked impishly.

"I mean, what are they trying to say? That sex is sour?"

"Or, sprinkled in all the right places and you'll get a mind-blowing experience. It's all about seasoning, Broody."

Fenris pondered over this. "Rosemary's a seasoning. So it anise seed. Why not use that?'

"Hm, doesn't really jump out at you, does it? _Warning: contains graphic rosemary. _Or: _Reader's discretion required. Heavy anise seed up ahead._ No, you gotta grab your readers by the testicles of their imagination, Fenris."

The elf scowled. "You could've just said 'zesty' or 'tangy' lime scenes."

"See?" said Varric, beaming like a Buddha. "You're getting the hang of things already."

A disgruntled grunt coming from Fenris's side of the table told him that was the only answer he'd ever get regarding that matter.

"So," Varric went on, "We didn't see you and Hawke here last night. Where'd the two of you go?"

Fenris mumbled something inaudible.

The dwarf tried a different tack. "Everyone's pretty excited about the upcoming nuptials. Even Rivani's talking about getting a new hat, and last time I checked, she was browsing nail colour with Daisy. What about you?"

"She got me a gift."

"Oh?" said Varric, wondering which 'she' he was referring to. "Well that's nice. Is it your birthday?"

"Varric, Marian hasn't been approaching you for any…forgery jobs lately, has she?"

"Me? No. Why'd you ask?"

"Nothing."

"Lemme guess: she got you something so incredibly expensive and most likely requires a trail of official papers to prove that it is and you want to make sure she's not selling you short?"

"She gave me the deeds to my mansion, Varric. Written under my name."

Varric whistled. "Knowing Hawke, I'd say that's the real thing. Looks like she's been _very_ friendly with some folks at the Keep. Hm, I wonder if she can help me get the Hanged Man…" he mused, lightly tapping the end of his quill to his chin. Seeing Fenris's sour face, he pursed his lips. "What's wrong now? You don't like her gift because it's the wrong _colour?"_

"It's not that. It's just-"

A figure suddenly appeared at the doorway. It was one of Varric's informants. The dwarf motioned for him to enter.

"My apologies," said the man. "But I have a message for Ser Fenris."

"Well, lucky you," said Varric. "He's right here."

Fenris accepted the note passed to him. There was a moment of silence as he read it, but his explosive response took Varric completely by surprise. The elf snarled out a curse, tossed the note onto the table, got to his feet and pelted out of the room.

Mystified, Varric took the note. On it was scrawled two sentences.

_We have Hawke. Come to the docks tonight._

"Huh, they always forget to sign their names at the end," he mused. Looking at the messenger, he flipped a sovereign towards the man with a nod of thanks. "Do me a favour and have your boys on standby mode. We might need backup."

The man nodded and left.

Varric stood up, straightened his tunic, and was about to leave when he suddenly stopped. "Gotta bring the rest of the gang," he muttered, picking up Bianca. He nodded happily. "Yep, now we can go."

* * *

><p>Outside the Hanged Man, Fenris collided with Sebastian.<p>

"Watch where you're going!" Fenris snarled, clutching his smarting nose.

"Marian's been taken!" said Sebastian, too anxious to bother with niceties. "Bodahn's just informed me."

"I already _know_ that. Now get out of my way!"

"How did you- so you know where she is?"

"Of course I do!"

Sebastian grabbed his shoulders and started shaking him. "Where is she?"

"_Get off me!"_ Fenris shouted, swatting the archer's hands away. "You think I'd be able to find her with you in my face?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who are you to-"

"Ladies, why don't we leave the catfight for later, hm?" Varric's voice rang out pleasantly. He'd just joined them without the two of them noticing.

"How can you be so calm, Varric?" Sebastian demanded. "Marian could be in danger right now, and-"

"She'll be able to take care of herself," said Varric, giving him a level stare. "What are you going to do: storm every warehouse and ship and demand for her release? How much help d'you think we'd be to her if we just marched there without proper planning? Her kidnappers have been thoughtful enough to tell us where she is, so it's only good manners for us to accept their invitation tonight."

Varric paused, assessing the two men before him. Both possessed enough stopping power to punch through a batallion of soldiers together, but drop a distressed Marian on their laps and they'll run around like headless chickens.

"Everyone calm now? Good," he said, hefting up Bianca. There was a determined gleam in his eyes as he did so. "Let's pow-wow."

* * *

><p>Marian regarded her surroundings and came to two solid conclusions: either she was being kidnapped or she was living in a kinky sex dream. Being bound and gagged to a chair was one big clue. Her current abode, while not being entirely cosy and smelling of pickled socks, doesn't seem all that bad. She could've woken up in a torture chamber or a coffin and <em>then<em> she'd be really worried.

Her captors - whoever they were - were being fairly decent as well. So far no one's barged into the room and began to beat a confession out of her. Nay, instead they chose to jostle around the keyhole and tried to whisper quietly amongst themselves. Marian kept still and attempted to look as unaffected as possible. Was she frightened? No. Does she need to pee very, very badly? Yes.

Oh, please just let someone in here now.

The door opened and in strode Charade with…Flora Harimann. The noblewoman reached forth and yanked the gag out of Marian's mouth.

"I don't care what Fenris says, but Orana and Sandal's getting their pay docked for this," she said, spitting out bits of cloth. "Ambushing me in my home. _My own bloody home! _So the plot thickens. You're planning on kidnapping me and shipping me off to Seheron chopped up in seven bits. Admit it! And you-" she turned towards Charade, "you were responsible for that love spell on Fenris. I know because I found his plushie outside his home, and you're the last person I saw holding it. Really, cousin…resorting to magic when he's clearly allergic to that stuff? And to think that _I_ got my head chewed off because of that!"

"We didn't actually imagine it'd turn out the way it did!" said Charade.

"Oho! So there were more than you, then? Which half-rate mage did you rope in to do the spell, huh? Another apostate still hiding between Darktown's nook and crannies?"

"I suppose you're wondering where you are, Hawke?" Flora asked.

"The docks, disused warehouse nineteen, flimsy locks that I can pick with a _sneeze_. Fenris fangirl event tonight with - and even I'm surprised at this - a special one-hour appearance of the man himself." Marian relished the increasing look of surprise on Flora's face before helpfully adding: "I've _been_ here before. That's how I know. So what are you planning to do with me? A public execution? A side entertainment? A charity auction with all the proceeds going to the Give Fenris His Hawke movement?"

"Fenris should've known about your kidnapping by now," said Charade. "He'll stop at nothing to rescue you, I'm sure of it. Why can't you see that he's the one for you, Marian?"

"I hardly think that this is the time nor place to be talking about such things, Charade! Anyway, what's with you people's fixation towards him and me?"

Flora made an impatient sound and started pacing about. "We're best friends, is that not good enough?" Marian went on. "Why must you poke your noses into things that're none of your business? Whose bloody idea was it anyway…this whole Give Fenris His Hawke thing? It can't be yours now, Charade. Can it?"

"So what if it is? We're just looking after your best interests, cousin."

"My – _what?_ What makes you think you have the right to know about my interests?" Marian responded hotly. "You listen here - I want this whole Fenbabies business stopped. At once! Maker's arse, as soon as I get out of here, I'll report you both to Aveline! This has-"

Whatever inbred noble dignity holding Flora Harimann together finally snapped. She whirled around, planting her face as close as possible to Marian's.

"_You stole my Pookie!" _she screamed.

Marian was nonplussed, her brows wrinkling as she attempted to digest this bit of mental algebra. "And that would be…what, exactly?"

She swung backwards as an accusing finger stabbed forth and almost impaled her nostril. "How _could_ you?" Flora spat. "We were childhood sweethearts. We've _sworn_ to be together forever! He'd promised to marry me – _me! _- and now suddenly he'd turned around and decided to marry _you!_ Huh!" she snorted, casting Marian a disdainful glance. "What does he see in a frumpy Fereldan turnip, anyway?"

"Well, I've been called worse before," Marian huffed. The ropes were beginning to cut into her skin. There was a small shiv hidden up her bracers, and she'd been trying to loosen up her wrists to get it…but whoever tied her up must've been a sailor, for the knots were really well made. "I'm assuming your Pookie's a person…but how is this my problem? I don't even know whoever that is, much less _marry_ him."

"She's talking about Sebastian," said Charade. "We were thrilled when you were with Fenris. But when you suddenly ended up with Sebastian, we decided that steps had to be taken."

Marian gaped. "Is this what it's all about, then? You blow smoke Fenris's way, hoping that I go _'Hey, now _that's_ the person I should be with.'_ and leave Sebastian? Then Flora here will swoop down and rescue that man from his heartbreak. She wins, I win, everybody throws confetti and Kirkwall is safe from rabid crazies again?"

"Yes, that's pretty much it," said Charade. She suddenly made a face. "Although now that you've said it out loud, I just realized how silly it sounds."

Marian sighed. "I'd feel much better if you lot are raising undead armies for world dominion. I tend to know what to do in that kind of situation. Right now, I'm not even sure what to think! Look, Fenris is the hack-first-and-don't-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you're really putting yourselves in danger if you keep on doing this. Why don't you let me go, and I'll get him to attend your precious event? Maker knows it's about time he sees for himself who his fans are. On that note, why in Thedas didn't you just send us an invite? Too mundane for the likes of you?"

Charade and Flora exchanged looks. "We…didn't think you'd accept," Charade said hesitantly.

Marian threw her hands up, but remembered they were tied down. She compensated by shrugging instead. "You could've tried," she groaned exasperatedly.

"We need to prepare," said Flora stiffly as she began to leave.

"That's it?" Marian asked. "No early supper, or at least a light snack for me? You surely know how to treat your guests well."

"I'll send something up later," said Charade. "And, no: you won't be untied for meals. I hope you like getting spoonfed."

"Only if it's done by dashingly handsome half-naked young men. Elves float my boat too…if you have any lying around."

"Ah, no. You'll have to be content with tired, overworked freelance freedom fighter," said Charade with a brittle smile. "Namely: me."

* * *

><p>Episode the Next: Party gatecrashers<p> 


	20. Together We Shall Be Merry

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware

* * *

><p>It was after work hours and she should've been at home, but Aveline preferred to be hiding behind a stack of cargo, squashed in with Donnic as the two of them staked out the suspicious-looking warehouse #19.<p>

They'd seen Guardswoman Brennan enter the place and she hasn't gone out ever since. In the meantime, more people had came over, confirming the reports they'd been getting about a gathering here.

"Captain, do we have a plan?" Donnic asked, feeling pins and needles creeping up his legs from squatting too long.

"What else? We get in there and arrest everyone for organizing an illegal event," replied Aveline. "You run back to the Keep and gather as many available men you can get."

"And have you charge in alone while I'm gone? My apologies, Captain…but I simply cannot do that."

"Defying direct orders now, Guardsman Donnic?" Aveline growled.

"Yes, Aveline. We're off-duty now, so I'm your official husband," Donnic said firmly.

Aveline allowed herself a small smile. "What do you propose we do, then?" she asked, resuming her authorative voice.

"We get in by the rear entrance, scout the place out and assess the threat level before taking combative action."

"Good plan. Let's go."

They were about to get up, when another group appeared and stopped right before their hiding place. Aveline immediately yanked Donnic back down.

"This is stupid," she heard one of them grumble. "Why am I the only one wearing this?"

"Unless you want to be mobbed, then shut up!" another one hissed. It sounded suspiciously like Sebastian.

"We're supposed to be incognito, Broody," somebody else piped in. This time she was _sure_ it was Varric.

Risking a quick look, she caught the unmistakable form of the Chantry archer. Standing beside him was another figure covered in a rather natty cloak. A clawed hand snaked out to tug unhappily at the hood covering its head, but she distinctively saw a tuft of white hair before it was obscured from view. Varric was nowhere in sight, but she knew he was close.

She felt a tap on her arm. Donnic was looking at her questioningly. _Orders, captain?_

She shook her head, motioning for him to wait. She needed to see what those three are up to first. It wouldn't do to have everyone storm the front without sending out for backup first.

"Right. Let's go rescue Hawke," said Varric, and they began walking towards the warehouse entrance.

Aveline's eyes widened. _Hawke, in danger? _This was far serious than she initially thought.

"Guardsman Donnic," she said in low, even tones. "This is me speaking as your Captain. You run to the Keep _right now, _and get as many available personnel as possible. Tell them this is high-level emergency. You understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good. Now _go!"_

* * *

><p>The scruffy elf guarding the front door stared unimpressedly at them as they approached.<p>

Sebastian put on his most winning smile. "A good evening to you, serrah. We understand there's an event happening tonight in this –er- charming establishment of yours. Would you find it permissible for us to enter?"

Varric rolled his eyes. Sebastian could make a normal conversation sound like he's ordering haute cuisine in an Orlesian eatery.

"Can't enter without the right password, _serrah,"_ the elf sneered. "We change it every week too, so there's no point in you saying you got it from the blasted Samson yesterday."

"Samson? That twitchy ex-Templar Samson?" said Varric.

Sebastian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hm, that is a predicament in itself. How about: _the queasy crow flies at midnight?"_ He remembered Marian saying it once, but he never realized it was a joke.

The elf made a pointed gesture of examining his fingernails.

There was a burst of filthy curses and both Sebastian and Varric felt themselves being shoved aside as Fenris bowled forward, grabbed the elf by the front of his tunic, and snarled: _"Hawke and Fenris are MFEO." _

The elf blinked. "That's not even-"

"It _is!_ Now you'll let us in right now, or so help me Maker I'll kill you where you stand!"

"Alright! Alright! Not need to get all excited! The door's not locked. Get yourselves in!"

Fenris released the elf, and as the three of them stepped into the warehouse, he could hear the dark muttering of "Tch, crazy fanatic fans!" before he turned and found the elf extremely interested in the scummy waters of Kirkwall harbour.

He bumped against Sebastian. He turned back round to see what was the holdup when he himself stopped short.

Right before them, was a roomful of running, walking, laughing and screaming while doing a weewee on the floor Fenrises. There were tall ones, short ones, and they came from every cookie-cutter shapes imaginable: male, female, child, adult…from the rotund, to the painfully skinny, to humans with ridiculously fake pointy ears stuck over their own. There was even – and Fenris had to look twice to confirm it – a Tal-Vashoth glowering quietly in one corner with a 'Fenris Rocks My Socks' scarf tied around his neck to show willing participation.

"Wouldja look at that?" Varric breathed.

Several enterprising individuals had set up merchandising stalls. Upon closer inspection, they were well-made paintings and sketches of Fenris, posters, fanfiction printed out in booklet form, banners and plushies of all sizes. Fenris snorted at the last item. They'd expanded the range and made stuffed versions of Varric and Marian as well.

"This is a travesty!" Varric exclaimed. He was eyeing the plushies too. "There's a huge marketing potential here, and I'm not the one tapping into it? For shame!" He shook his head, the seductive clink of gold coins resonating in his ears fading away like a dream.

Sebastian let out a strangled cry. An uncanny lookalike of his had just brushed past him, giving him a friendly nod as he did so. Granted, the white armour was a cheap knocked-together iron and leather version, and the kid had far too many acne for his liking. But still…it was like waking up one morning and realizing your mirror image had stepped out and said hello.

"Well, look who's here," grinned Varric as he motioned with his chin.

A group of out-of-uniform Templars were huddled sheepishly together like a molecule formation, drinks in hand as they sent out furtive _I don't know you, you don't know me_ glances towards the rest of the room. Out there they may be ragin', stompin' law enforcers, but in here they were nothing more than overaged adolescents sharing a geeky hobby which could send any prospective suitors running for the hills once they knew.

"Looking good, Cullen," Varric called out. "Does Meredith know you're here?" He grinned even wider when the Knight-Captain threw him a mortified look and turned his back on him.

There was stage at one end with a banner stretched out over it. The words _'The Best Kirkwall Heroes Lookalike Competition'_ bounded cheerfully towards them in tacky golden glitter. Already several people were sashaying across the stage, showing off their costumes and killer poses. Fenris had to suppress a shudder when he saw a dwarf dressed up as Varric pucker up and blow kisses towards the judges.

"Marian must be held upstairs," Sebastian interrupted his thoughts. "Nobody's allowed up there. See those two guards?"

Sure enough, there were a couple of hired Tal-Vashoth muscles stationed before the stairs.

"I think you're right, Choir Boy," said Varric. "Now, we gotta do this quietly. No need to cause panic on these people. Any suggestions?"

Sebastian stared at Varric, brows furrowed in thought.

"What we need, is a really good distraction," the dwarf prompted.

A devilishly crafty look suddenly crossed Sebastian's face as he turned towards Fenris. The elf was still darkly pondering the injustice of having his own pseudo-dopplegangers parading about indiscriminately when he suddenly felt the cowl being yanked off his head, exposing his identity to the rest of the world.

"Look, everyone!" Sebastian shouted. "The real Fenris!"

"What the _Void_ are you doing?" Fenris screeched, frantically trying to cover himself up again.

But it was too late. The domino effect that happened afterwards was inevitable. Roughly fifty heads turned at the commotion, attracting another fifty as the stampede began. Girls screamed and cried, there was a scramble as everyone tried to find something to be signed on, and chaos came in the form of a hundred bodies pressing towards them. To Varric it was especially terrifying, for from his point of view it was like being overwhelmed by a tsunami of legs.

Sebastian, being the tallest of the three, managed to extricate himself from the mess. He offered a silent apology to the snarls of Tevinter curses dogging his steps and made a point to buy Fenris a pint to smooth things over afterwards.

He approached the Tal-Vashoth guards, smiling at them in a friendly manner.

"Would you like to receive Andraste's blessing, my brothers?" he asked.

The guards looked at each other. "We're not Andrastians."

"Oh? Well, allow me to pray on your behalf, then."

A fist shot out, and the first guard fell asleep from a punch in the face while the other received a busted kneecap and concussion courtesy of Andraste's righteous combo of foot and elbow.

Sebastian paused, shaking his smarting knuckles. No matter how many times he did this, he'd never really get used to how hard skulls can be. Taking a brief moment to offer a silent prayer of forgiveness, he cast a final glance at the crowd before sprinting upstairs.

Flora greeted him, sword drawn and pointed to his chest dangerously close enough to show that she meant business.

"Do not interfere," she gritted out.

He swerved to the left, easily stepping out of her swing range. She'd always been a rubbish swordswoman and anyone who'd been to the Harimann household should know that.

"Flora?" he said. "Don't tell me you're involved in this madness!"

"This does not concern you, Sebastian. You shouldn't even _be_ here," said Flora.

"Oh? And why is that?" said Sebastian, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "_You're_ responsible for this, aren't you? What is it this time: another Desire Demon having you as a pet?"

"Sebastian, please," she said, her tone pleading. "We've been friends for so long. You even promised to marry me once. Why are you with her now?"

Sebastian stared at her as if she's truly lost her marbles. "I was eleven that time! You were threatening me with a stick! How else do you expect me to respond? Maker, of _all_ the things to hold over my head! Anyway, _why_ are we even having this conversation? You planned this whole fangirl nonsense, and for what?"

"It's not meant to be, you and Hawke," Flora said, shaking her head sadly. "She's supposed to be Fenris's OTP, and you've ruined everything! Why can't you just stay away, Sebastian? I even helped you out when Mimsie Topknot thought she was knocked up by you!"

"Mi- oh, come on. It was just as kiss, and she was stupid!" Sebastian growled. He'd had it up to there with the stupid fangirl jargons. What the seven hells was that, anyway? _Off The Plot? Over The Pants? _Whatever it was, he had to do something before Flora got reinforcements. "Look, either you get out of the way, or-"

"Did you tell Hawke about the tattoo?"

That stopped him. "No. But I intend to once this is all over. Now, _move!" _

She refused, and he had to knock her out. He offered yet another silent apology as he propped her up against the wall. There was only one closed door in the hallway and he lunged towards it.

* * *

><p>Marian feebly scraped her chair around as she tried to find her means of escape. Literary narrative always dictated that there must be a broken glass or nail conveniently lying about. The hero would thus use said item to free herself and frantically try to find a way out. Finding none, she would fall into a pit of despair until a convenient moment of <em>deus ex machina <em>would allow her to construct an explosive device using nothing more than soggy socks, chewing gum and a mini nuclear reactor.

So far, Flora and Charade were being rather inconsiderate baddies – if they could be called such things. The room was bare, save for a stack of dusty crates and a broken table sitting forlornly in one corner. She'd considered shouting for help, but if that didn't attract any good Samaritans, then it would definitely attract Charade.

"_Waark! Thar she blows!" _

Marian brightened up. Finally, a saviour! She twisted around to see the high windows, and sure enough, the albino parrot she'd bought and released at the market last week was perched there. It stared impassively back at her before pecking at its feathers, fluffing and preening as if there wasn't a person in dire need of help sitting right below.

"Psst, hey bird! How about doing a good deed for the day, eh?" she called out hoarsely. "I'll give you extra cheese crackers if you help me out!"

"_Croo! Where's the rum?" _

"Get down here and nibble at these ropes, will you?" There was a muffled argument going on outside the room, and Marian grew desperate. She began wriggling about in the chair. "Listen, you feather duster…anytime now I could be dead, so if you-"

She heard running footsteps, followed by a rather heavy thump on the door.

"Hey, are you even listening?" she said, making one last ditch attempt on the bird. Its only response was to affix one red eye on her.

The door's flimsy latch broke at the second attempt. Sebastian piled in and saw Marian frantically struggling against her bonds.

"Marian!" he cried out, rushing to her side.

Her panicked face turned to relief when she saw who it was.

"Did Flora hurt you?" he asked, producing a knife and began hacking away at the ropes.

"No. Oh, thank Maker you're here! Did you come alone?"

"Fenris and Varric's downstairs. They're buying us time to escape."

"Listen, this isn't what you think, alright? They just want Fenris for their event. If there's anyone we should take care of, it's Flora and Charade. Gah, can't believe they're the masterminds! I say we get out of here, report this to Aveline and let her handle everything."

Marian was finally free. She threw her arms around Sebastian, and they hugged tightly.

"I was really worried, you know," he mumbled into her shoulder.

"I know. Sorry about that." Releasing him, she got to her feet and winced when her legs protested. "Let's go. We need to at least let them know we're alright."

* * *

><p>Fenris gritted his teeth, and fought the urge to just phase his way out of the crowd. Hands grabbed at his clothes, bringing up past phobias he'd been trying hard to surpress.<p>

Varric was nowhere in sight. The dwarf had dropped to his hands and knees and crawled his way out. Fenris was left stranded in a sea of people, and he was beginning to glow dangerously. Any minute now he'll snap and find himself in a roomful of blood. Someone, _anyone, _better get him out of there soon, or-

"Hello, my little wolf."

He didn't realize he'd closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found himself face to face with Danarius.

Everything else faded to the background as he watched the bane of his existence smile slowly, maliciously. _No, not now. Not here. How'd he _know?He wasn't prepared. He was still frightened.

He backed away, but he could feel a wall of bodies pressing against him. The faces in the crowd morphed into Tevinter mercenaries, surrounding him and cutting all means of escape. Already he could feel the falling sensation of despair as he saw that there was no running away this time. He was truly alone, and for the first time he realized how much he needed Marian badly.

He'll never see her again…never-

An earsplitting dying shriek cut through his consciousness, followed by a very familiar businesslike voice: "Alright, somebody better give me something sharp and pointy _now. _I'm in a mage-killing mood."

* * *

><p>Episode the next: The best City Guard report<p> 


	21. Children Are Always The Smartest People

Dragon Age 2 and all of its characters belong to Bioware.

AN: I know the lisping child in this chapter sounds very much like Terry Pratchett's Igor. I worship Terry as much as I worship Baz Lurhmann…but I think anyone who can make Hugh Jackman look devillishly good as an outback drover is a god in my books.

* * *

><p>An eyewitness account of what happened afterwards during the infamous Give Fenris His Hawke convention:<p>

_So we were busy getting autographs, right…but Fenris just stood there looking all funny. I think it's 'cos this scary old prune appeared all of a sudden, like POOF! (minus the the sound, of course). Anyway, that __old man must've been left his glasses at home, or maybe he's at the wrong event, 'cos he called Fenris a wolf. I mean, obviously he's not one! Adults are so funny sometimes. _

_Anyway, Lady Hawke appeared…along with Varric and whatzisface Chantry guy. They all get into this totally __kickass __awesome fight. There're dead guys, skeletons, 'sploding monkeys and everything. This is even more fun than watching those lame puppet shows Grandpappy always brought me to every weekend. _

_The dwarf beside me got so excited that he accidentally stabbed himself with his wooden sword. Don't ask me how that happened, but I'm happy to report that he's a-OK. _

_So, back to the fight…the old man fell down. Fenris did his magic fisting thing and everyone cheered! But we didn't get to have fun, because the City Guards came and wanted to arrest everyone. Lady Hawke managed to make an announcement, saying that she's marrying someone else, but I didn't even know she was married. _

_Anyway, so that's what happened. Please don't arrest me, Ser City Guard. All I want is an autograph, and I got it both from Lady Hawke and Fenris. I'm very happy and I promise I won't __particepate in anymore __ile__ illegal gatherings. _

_Sincerely:_

_Jason Powderly, age 6 yrs._

There was even a drawing of Fenris holding up a bleeding heart at the end, rendered in the crude, sketchy style children are prone to fall into.

Aveline shook her head at the image, a tiny smile gracing her face. This was by far the best report she'd ever read in the entire span of her guardswoman career. Instead of filing it away like any other document, she'd pinned it to a corkboard on the wall near her desk, and looked at it everytime she needed a bit of a laugh.

* * *

><p>The cell was one of the cleaner ones. Sebastian had personally made sure of that. He even made sure that Flora was granted a more civil treatment compared to the other prisoners. Aveline had grumbled about that. Quite a mess had occurred at the warehouse that night, and someone had to be held responsible. The gathering was Flora's brainchild to begin with. Top it up with stalking and trespassing charges, along with kidnapping and conspiracy, there's no way Aveline could put it inside her report and let it come out smelling of roses.<p>

Sebastian sat back at his end of the table, quietly studying his old friend. At least Flora was allowed visitors, but judging from her sullen expression, he was most likely the only one who came to see her.

His eyes flicked up to the two City Guards flanking her. She wasn't in chains – his princely insistance had ensured that. But of course Aveline had to compromise with something else.

"Are you being treated well?" he finally asked.

"Do you like prison food?"

"Not really, no." Stale bread and water were the standard fare, but of course he hadn't been in City Guard custody for long before. Drunken misdemeanour and brawling were his worst offense and even then there were ways of circumventing the issue.

"There's your answer, then."

"Flora, what you did was quite serious. Abducting Hawke over a –" he halted before the words 'piddling matter' could escape his lips. Never downplay a fangirl's obsession. He won't hear the end of it if he did. "We could've sat down and talked about this like civil people. I've practically known you my whole life. Why can't you be upfront with such matters?"

"Would you have married me if you weren't with her?"

Sebastian blinked. It was a rather odd question. He knew about her childhood crush towards him. Hells, he remembered mercilessly teasing her for it and she'd always run off embarassed. He was an ass, sure…but for her to go through such ridiculous lengths just break him and Marian apart was…well, to put it rather plainly: ridiculous.

He could go self-righteous about this and start the lecturing and finger wagging on what a poor character Flora was, but what good would that do? He was partly to blame for this. How many times had she sat in the sidelines while he drifted from one fling to the next without sparing a thought towards her feelings? If this was truly a culmination of years of frustrated longing, then he should man up and do something about it.

"Flora," he said as gently as possible. "I've always seen you as a sister, as a best friend. You have been very good to me all these years, and I'll never forget that. The only thing I could offer is an apology for my selfishness, and I hope you'd accept that."

"Oh, stuff your apology, Sebastian," Flora snarled. "You're way past that. It doesn't matter anyway. Now all I have to do is sit back and watch as she does to you what you did to me. It'll be an entertaining show, I promise you."

Sebastian's expression hardened. "Now you listen here, Flora. Marian may not be perfect, but I will not have you bring her into matters that she had no hand in."

Flora laughed bitterly. "Still defending her virtue, I see. The Chantry certainly had shoved a stick so far up your arse that you end up blind. Make no mistake, Sebastian. Marian still loves Fenris, and I doubt that would ever change. I have proof, you know. You really think she went on an Antivan holiday months ago? I have people who've seen her fighting mages in Minrathous during that time. Apparently she'd been trying to bargain for Fenris's freedom with his master and it didn't end well."

"What?" said Sebastian, scarcely able to believe what he heard. "You're lying!"

"Why would I do that, hm? Now, of all times? I'm in prison, awaiting my sentence. There's nothing else I _can_ do."

"Have respect for her, Flora. She lost her mother that time, and she needed time to grieve."

"Oh, and grieve she did. She bought that rundown shack Fenris lives in and gave it to him. I bet you didn't know that. She'd been cosying up with Seneschal Bran , so maybe she got an excellent deal out of him. And –" at this point Flora chuckled derisively, "perhaps Bran got something from her as well. Who knows what people do during these complicated business meetings?"

Sebastian's voice was becoming low, dangerous. "You stop right there, woman, or so help me Maker I will-"

"You will what? Hit me? Please. You lost your fangs ages ago. When your parents abandoned you. When you fell for that two-faced Marian. You're nothing but a sappy halfwit, Sebastian. I heard you can't even make proper decisions without Marian guiding you along. This is the man who will take over the throne someday? Hah, I'd rather pit in my chances with Goran."

"Why don't you, then? He's a spineless bastard. You two should be compatible with each other. That's what your mother initially wanted, isn't it?"

"I don't _want_ him!" Flora exclaimed. "You don't get it. You never will. Nobody's ever rejected you You're so used to have things go your way that you can't see what it's like for people like me."

"You're talking through your hat, Flora. You're part of a powerful family, you could pick anyone to be your husband-"

"I did," said Flora, the beginnings on a tear pooling the corners of her eyes. "But he refused. Many times." It fell then, the tears, onto her cheeks and eventually her lap. They quietly disappeared, very much like her infatuation throughout the years.

Sebastian shook his head, unable to comfort her. Flora was wrong. He understood rejection, but in a much different capacity than hers. The third son of a dynasty could never amount to much, and there was a moment in his life where he'd given up being good at anything simply for the reason that he'd be too far in someone else's shadow for his parents to notice.

Now, more than ever, he had a chance to shine…but ironically, he had to be in the shadows again in order to achive that. Perhaps that was his curse: his inability to make decisions simply because there were always other people who'd make it for him.

"Marian's planning to do something at the Circle," said Flora. "She's been squirelling their building plans out of the Keep and studying them for months. She'd even been oiling her way around the Templars. I don't know what she's up to. Either she's doing the mages in, or she's secretly working for them. She's also been holing up at that Darktown healer's clinic, Maker knows doing what."

"Anders?" Sebastian frowned.

"Is that his name? Makes no difference to me. I'm sure it does to you. Oh, and she's been slipping up the Chantry's bell tower too. The last time she did that, it was with Fenris. They were up there for a very long time too." Flora chuckled, again without humour. She fixed her gaze squarely towards Sebastian and gave him a look that was both sardonic and pitying at once.

"Your fiancee's fooling around under your very nose, and you still think the world of her," she said. "Hah, I can't decide who'd the greater fool here: myself, or you. You'd better watch your step, Sebastian. You're in love with a viper, make no mistake about that. She'll stab you in the back, and she'll even smile as she does it. Don't say I didn't warn you afterwards."

* * *

><p>It's been a week after Danarius's death, one week after that funny little incident at the warehouse area…and the fact was, <em>nobody <em>cared. The world had turned up its collar and moved on. What's another despot, anyway? The important thing was Satinalia's coming, and once more the colours of Kirkwall were changing.

Fenris found himself being dragged out of his home by a suspiciously enthusiastic Marian. She'd broken tradition again by dressing up in her evening's finest, and that was the only reason he'd allowed himself to be taken away from his all-important job of brooding.

"This is completely unnecessary, Hawke," he grumbled.

Marian merely laughed.

She brought him to the orphanage, where already there was some sort of party going on. This time Fenris actually dug in his heels.

"If this is another fan session-"

"No, it's not. Don't worry," said Marian, holding fast to his arm. "It's just a traditional Satinalia play. The children do this every year, and they've personally invited us. Come on, Fenris. For the orphans? I promise you it's nothing as crazy as you-know-what."

Fenris sighed. Trust Hawke to play dirty. First she gets all dolled up, and then she emotionally bribes him with children. And they were very happy to see him too. They crowded around him, asked him interested questions, and he awkwardly tried to answer most of them.

Finally, Elthina clapped her hands and summoned them to the performance area, where a stage had been set with rows of chairs for the audience.

"Shouldn't you be doing this with Sebastian?" Fenris grumbled as they took their seats.

"Oh, he didn't tell you? He's gone out of town to take care of business."

"Important enough for him to miss the holidays? Must be serious, then. You two didn't get into a fight, did you?"

"Poncy princely stuff, darling," Marian said airily, lacing an arm around his. "I don't want to bore you with details. Even I don't understand half of it."

A skeptical glance was the only response she got out of him, but mercifully he didn't say anything.

The truth was, Sebastian's departure was marred by less than positive feelings between them. She'd never expected him to sucker punch her with a difficult question, but then he wouldn't be Sebastian if he didn't. As she'd noted before, he had a tendency to stealth around relationship landmines and spring them when no one was ready.

_If you have the chance of backing out of our marriage, would you take it?_

Even now Marian's innards curled at the memory. She remembered his face: so calm, so purposeful and yet turned away from her. His posture remained rigid, as if he was mentally steeling himself for the answer. How can a pleasant dinner suddenly turn into this?

_I _know_ about you and Fenris. Don't bother denying it._

So she didn't. _I won't. _

Sebastian had sighed heavily. _Marian, I don't want to turn this into a confrontation. Let's just be rational about this_, he'd said.

"_Sorry…"_

"_No, don't apologize for anything yet. Just…answer me." _

"_I don't do sappy confessions, Sebastian." _

"_Then do honest."_

"_Fenris is a ghost. And I hate chasing one." _

"_But you still do." The weight of that statement was far greater than him accusing her of adultery. "I may not be the smartest person, but even I can see you've been out of sorts lately. I'm done being the second fiddle, Marian. Everyone knows Fenris is the leading man in your story."_

"_Leading men aren't always reliable, Sebastian."_

"_You should really think this through. Neither one of us would want to get into something we're not sure of."_

"_Where are you going?" Marian asked, seeing him rise. _

_He hesitated. "Away. I hope when I see you again, you'll have your answer by then."_

"What is this blasted show for, anyway?" Fenris hissed rather too loudly.

"You've never seen a nativity play? It's some feel good holy stuff, but they're usually of Andraste and her rise as prophet. You know I hate religion, but I actually don't mind seeing children perform them, because they're not hypocrites."

But Fenris was proving himself to be one of those public nuisances in cinemas. He went on with his not so _sotto voce_ tone: "What's the point of showing something people already know?"

"Classics never die. Besides, it's not as boring as you might think. There's bound to be some kid with stage fright and messes his lines and _then_ things'll get interesting. Never underestimate the ad libbing powers of a six-year-old."

For a moment, Fenris seemed to be appeased. But he fidgeted in his seat again and leaned over. "I know why you're doing this," he said.

"You do?"

"You wish for me to talk about Danarius, how I feel about his-"

"That's enough." This time Marian turned to face him. "I brought you here simply because it's Satinalia. No other reason. You'll talk about Danarius only when you're well and truly ready, and I understand that. I _know_ you, Fenris. I'm not expecting anything except for you to enjoy yourself. Now shut up and hear Elthina out!"

The room was dark, save for the lights on the stage. Elthina was in the middle of a speech, thanking them all for coming and asking them to enjoy themselves. She stepped off, and the play began.

Marian parked her brain elsewhere and settled down for at least 30 minutes of mindless entertainment. As the familiar characters washed over her, she lapsed into an amused stupor as she watched the children go over their routine. She perked up during the infamous execution scene. It was always her favourite part of all. _Ha, serve you right, stupid Andraste. You busted your arse saving those ingrates and see what you get in the end. Now where's that pansypants Hessarian?_

"And tho Andrathte burned at the pyre," the narrator droned in lispy tones. "Everyone cheered and drank the communal wine. But Andrathte wathn't really Andrathte. It'th actually Lady Hawke, and she's about to be rethcued by Thomeone Really Important!"

Marian frowned. Eh? Did she hear correctly? It can't be the kid was so struck by her Champion star power that he actually forgot the script?

"Everyone thcream for _Fenrith!"_

Someone leapt onto the stage, and it was a junior Fenris. Apparently some elven kid had been roped in for the production, and he'd tackled his role with gusto. Budget restrictions indicated that they couldn't afford an exact Fenris outfit replica, so the actor had to make do with a black cape instead. His noodle arms were brandishing an oversized wooden sword, and he was trying to look ferocious it was cute. Marian could almost believe that that was how Fenris looked like when he was younger.

Beside her, the real Fenris buried his face in one hand and uttered a small sob. Why, oh why? Of all the ways to desecrate Andraste's death, they _had_ to drag his name into it. If they wanted to turn this into a comedy, then it was certainly done in bad taste.

The rest of the crowd began stirring about in their seats. _Is this part of the play? Who wrote the plot? Why is the Champion in it? This is utter _blasphemy! The children, however, were overjoyed at the sight of their favourite hero. They clapped and cheered as 'Fenris' tore about the stage, battling mages, soldiers and one innocuous background prop. Somewhere along the way he'd lost his white wig, but he was too excited to notice. The rest of the actors were creative enough to add fake blood, but if this was an actual prime time show, it would've earned a PG rating.

"The great Fenrith has come to thave the day!" crowed the narrator. "Thee how he dodgeth the bad guyth and cut them down with thwashbuckling moves!" Marian knew the kid was really excited, for she could see a shower of spittle come out when he said the word 'swashbuckling'.

She shrank in her seat and tried to be invisible. Fenris continued watching with the stony expression of a man determined to endure the pain by hook or by crook. Grand Cleric Elthina was seriously debating whether or not to stop the play. Sister Petrice sat smugly in her seat, brimming with self-importance. It was her production, after all…and she was proud to see it through.

Andraste/ Lady Hawke was finally rescued from the pyre, and 'Fenris' gingerly held her as he planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. This apparently mortified her, as she turned a bright shade of red.

"And tho, Fenrith wath once again The Hero," the narrator concluded to Andraste's hysterical screams as she ran offstage, "and he went away with Lady Hawke to a secret place so that they can make lots of Fenbabies. The end."

The applause came hesitantly, as if nobody was sure whether it was truly finished and everyone was hoping for a blooper showreel to come in the end.

"We're doomed with Fenbabies for the rest of our lives," Fenris deadpanned.

"Makes battling Alpha Genlocks everyday all the more attractive, doesn't it?" said Marian, warily watching Sister Petrice march towards them.

"Champion," the Chantry nun said, "I trust you enjoyed our little entertainment tonight?"

Marian didn't like the crafty way she was rubbing her hands together, but she gave her a winning smile nonetheless. "It's nice to see something different for once."

"And what of you, Ser Fenris? I believe you too are deserving of the Champion title."

Fenris snorted. "Please, spare me the mindless grovelling. This is nothing more than a waste of time, and I'd appreciate it if you'd stop stomping my foot on purpose, Hawke."

"Oh, dear…is that what I was doing?" Marian said innocently. "This is a casual event, Fenris. Spikes and sourpuss venoms aren't compulsory accessories. Let's save that for when we crash Seneschal Bran's soiree, shall we?"

"You're really going to that detestable man's house later?"

Marian turned towards Sister Petrice, who was still smiling uncertainly. "He enjoyed it as well. Especially the unexpected plot twist-"

"You mean: butchering," came the dark muttering beside her.

"I'm glad," Sister Petrice beamed. "Perhaps you might like to personally congratulate the performers. They've been practicing for days to get it right, and to actually get Lady Hawke and Ser Fenris to come and watch was truly an honour."

"C'mon, Fenris," said Marian, tugging his arm. "If we're lucky we can get autographs."

The orphans were absolutely thrilled with their presence. Some of them didn't even know who Lady Hawke was, being far more interested in Fenris. Marian was ever the professional celebrity: she gamely smiled and answered their questions, bestowed hugs and kisses wherever needed, and even accepted the occasional hastily-made spray of flowers.

Fenris found himself face-to-face – or rather, navel-to-face with the actor who played him. The boy was so starstruck he was close to swooning. He stared, wide-eyed at Fenris's dour expression and was struck with the indecision of whether to worship this man or to die.

Fenris broke into one of his rare smiles, nodding approvingly and congratulating him. He then squatted down and proceeded to give the boy tips of warrior breathing exercises.

Marian rejoined Fenris with a knowing grin on her face. He tried his best to ignore it.

"Admit it," she said after the boy had left, "You enjoyed this."

"I'll admit nothing," Fenris shot back, although his initial frown seemed to have disappeared. "But…thank you."

"For the play? Look, it wasn't my idea. I was just as surprised as you are-"

"No…no. For everything."

"You've already done that. If you thank me anymore, you'll embarrass me."

She suddenly stiffened. Fenris had taken her hand and was gripping it tightly. For a person who almost never initiated any physical contact, this was certainly a surprise.

"You know I'm no good with words," he said. "How else will I show you my gratitude?"

"I'm always partial to a box of chocolates. Or socks. You can never have enough."

"_Seriously, _Marian."

"I wasn't joking!"

"You're beautiful."

Marian's grin faded. The sudden flush on her cheeks was a good enough response.

Fenris leaned over and for a moment it seemed as if he was on a collision course towards kissing her – but he veered suddenly to the left and whispered in her ear: "Are you sure you're going home afterwards?"

"Shit, Fenris. If you keep pulling pickup lines out of your arse at the most unexpected times, where would I be?"

The elf hesitated. "I'm actually unsure whether I should be flattered or insulted by that," he said, pulling back.

Marian laughed, and tilted her head to watch the heavens. Hm, starry skies tonight. Seems like a shame to be spending it indoors. The weight of ultimatum was still heavy on her shoulders, and yet it seemed like a distant memory as she looked back at Fenris's expectant expression. He was still holding her hand.

"The night _is_ still young," she said, slowly and deliberately.

"And?"

"What the hell? It's Satinalia night. Let's go somewhere and get plastered. Let's misbehave!"

* * *

><p>Episode the next: It ain't a romance if there isn't some moonlit hanky-panky.<p> 


	22. Moonlight Tryst

**Dragon Age series and all of its characters belong to Bioware.**

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><p>Merrill skipped and twirled over a low wall, humming gently to herself as she scattered rose petals all around her. She really enjoyed her nightly visits to the Viscount's gardens. It was the one place in all of Kirkwall that she truly felt at home. She couldn't understand why it wasn't open to the public. Surely the sight of pretty flowers and sunshine could cheer people up?<p>

"Hmm, hmm…tra lalala," she trilled as she threw her head back, spread out her arms and pirouetted in the moonlight. She stumbled and almost fell headlong into a rose bush. "Oof, careful there. Oh, hello…what have we here?"

She heard a whispered conversation from one of the old back gates. Who else could possibly be here at this hour? It can't be the guards…

"…_.bother picking the lock. It's rusted shut. Come on…"_

A dark head appeared atop the gate. _Thieves! _Merrill gasped and scrambled up the nearest tree. She peered through the leaves, wondering what she should do next. She could alert the guards, but then who would believe the story of a trespassing elf?

There was a distressed ripping sound and the figure swore. "Dratsville! This was my favourite dress!" It jumped down and hissed out: "Coast is clear. Come on! Here, I'll catch you."

The other person snorted. "Do I look like I need catching, Hawke? I'll show you how it should be done."

_Hawke's here? _Merrill thought. _But why?_ She caught sight of a very familiar glow and an even familiar figure phased through the gate.

Hawke blew a raspberry. "Hah, showoff. Let's go. The maze is this way."

Merrill leapt down and tapped her chin thoughtfully as the two figures scuttled away. Hmm, how peculiar. Maybe she should follow them…just to make sure they don't run into any trouble. Yes, that's the right thing to do. They could be up to something good, but it wouldn't hurt for her to tag along and keep an eye out on things…just in case.

Besides, those rosebushes can be very dangerous if one's not careful.

* * *

><p>Marian skidded and stopped before the maze entrance.<p>

"And here we are," she said, eyes shining with excitement.

Fenris padded over, taking in the stone archway intertwined with vines. "You humans' fascination with mazes is still strange to me," he said. "Why build something for you to get lost in?"

"For the fun of it! Anyway, you won't get lost. It's not so complicated. Once you're inside, it's like a whole different world altogether. Come on."

Taking his hand, she led him down a pathway he suspected she was already familiar with. He never realized how noisy the night was until he felt the leafy walls towering over them. Everything was still and quiet. Just like Hawke had said: they were in a different world now.

"I take it you've always wanted one of your own?" he asked.

"What, a maze? Actually yes…but you know how things are. Where can I possibly put one up in my estate? I don't even have a decent garden!"

"You can try the ballroom."

"Oh, haha. Very funny."

They finally burst into the centre. Marian let go of his hand and danced forth, sweeping her arms over the entire area with flourish.

Fenris allowed his gaze to take in the sights. It was a rather vanilla garden, most likely taken out from an insipid yard decoration catalogue. There was a large shallow pool before him, its dancing waters dotted with lotus flowers. Nude maidens lined the sides and performed the enviable task of making sure the pool never runs out of water. In the centre was an island, where an ivy-festooned gazebo stood. It seemingly glowed in the moonlight, giving out an ethereal vision which was unfortunately lost to him.

The whole place seemed empty; a human's laughable attempt at creating beauty. He was baffled at what Hawke could possibly see in this place. He turned around to tell her just that, but the words stumbled and died when he saw her face.

She was clearly enraptured, looking around as if she's seeing everything for the first time. No wonder he wasn't impressed. All the magic of the stars was right there in her face. She looked at him and smiled widely. "Not too shabby, eh?"

Maker, how he longed to touch her again. He stepped forth and reached out to push a lock of hair from her face. His hand passed through her. She laughed wickedly, shimmering like a mirage as she stepped back and disappeared into nothingness.

"Sloppy!" her voice echoed out around him. "Can't believe you still fell for that!"

"Oh, very clever," he growled. "Ever the trickster."

He began stalking around searching for her. She was seemingly everywhere. One minute she was behind the statues, the next she was perched on top of the gazebo roof. He felt a tap on his shoulder, but when he turned around she was already gone. There was a splash, and three Marians were in the pool, kicking up water and wetting his clothes.

"Come on, Fenris," they chorused. "Surely _you_ can tell which one's the real me?"

"Hawke, this isn't funny," he said. "I refuse to play along with your games."

She pouted, and two disappeared, leaving the one in the middle to look up at him and reply: "Ah, spoilsport. I didn't realize you're Ser Boring."

"Come on, get out of there. You'll catch a cold."

"Fine, alright." With a mischievous grin he'd come to dread, she disappeared once more. A cloud of giggling smoke swirled around him, obscuring his vision. He merely humphed and crossed his arms to his chest. She'll get tired of this soon enough if he did nothing.

He started when he felt a gentle nip on his earlobe.

"Ser Boring," she whispered darkly. "You're so stiff. Let me see if I can remedy that."

An altogether pleasant sensation began trailing down his neck. Ooh, the naughty minx. He could imagine her kissing him there, and his eyes began to darken. She danced around him, murmuring sweet nothings as she touched him lightly on the arm, his thigh, and making a phantom pathway up his torso, to his ears, and finally his lips.

He closed his eyes and reached out both his hands. He could feel her taking form again, and when he curled his fingers he found them clasped around her waist…exactly where he imagined they would be.

"Found me at last," she grinned.

He ravaged her lips there and then. The damned woman had it coming. Serves her right for being so bloody irresistible. Their hips were joined in a very friendly manner as his hands traveled up to her shoulderblades, his tongue working its way further inside her mouth.

When they finally parted, Marian had a strange look on her face. She swallowed hard and suddenly found his tunic very interesting. Fenris bowed his head, placing a hand over her chest and imagining her heart jumping within. Her breasts heaved in way that made him want to bury himself inside her soul forever.

"Marian…" he said huskily. "You're a dream I would chase my whole life."

She pulled away and said in a rather high-pitched voice: "Ooh! A…a gazebo! Let's have a look!"

The woman all but skipped her way there. An unlit lantern hung from the rafters. She fussed about her clothes, pretending to look for matches. All the while she kept her back carefully angled towards Fenris. She can't bear to face him again at the moment.

"Don't bother," he said.

"What? It'll look better with the light on, trust me."

"I said: no."

"But-"

The whole place lit up with a too familiar blue glow.

Marian spun around and backed away. Fenris was a phoenix, a bright sun in the centre of her universe. No surface of Thedas was worthy enough to be stepped upon by this dark angel. The brands on his skin pulsated, its radiance colouring his hair and reflected in his eyes. They were gazing at her very intently. He took a step forth and made as if to reach out to her.

She laughed. "You look like a firefly," she said, taking a seat one of the stone benches lining the walls of the gazebo. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I've been told many things, but not that specifically," he replied, his glow dissipating as he sat down beside her. He deliberately brushed a knee against hers as he did so.

She tried to ignore this, yet her fingers worried about the lace flowers of her skirt. He hesitated, now in two minds about taking her hand in his. Surely she didn't object much to that kiss just now…?

"I saw Varania yesterday."

An eyebrow quirked. "You did?" he said, already dreading the outcome of this conversation. "And now's the part where you tell me to make amends with her?"

"You don't _have _to. You could send her packing and never see her again for all I care. But…I'm just saying it's nice to have a family."

"Even when she's a mage?" he growled.

Her eyes never left his. "Yes."

He looked away, shaking his head. He knew he couldn't be angry with her even if he wanted to. The logic may be twisted, but she was, on some level, right.

"She told me many things about Seheron," Marian went on. "Her childhood, your parents, you, the…the elven girl you were with before you became a slave-"

Fenris clenched his hands into fists. "Lies! All lies!" he snarled. "Why must you trust anything that comes out of that bitch's mouth?"

"They may be lies to you, but they're the truth to her. Look, I already said I don't care what you do with her. But know this: if she dies, I'll be the only person alive who knows about your past."

"And they should remain that way: buried and forgotten forever!"

"I'm just keeping your options open. Should someday you decide that you want to know, well you can come talk to me anytime. And don't worry…nobody else will know about this, not even our friends. Of that you have my word."

Fenris shook his head. "Let's just change the subject. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Right," she said, heaving out a breath as if she'd just released something heavy from her chest. "So now that we've got all the depressing stuff out of the way, let's do something fun, shall we?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I was kind of hoping you could tell me that."

Fenris said nothing.

"Anyway, so…I thought I'd bring you someplace different for a change," she went on, wondering if he was angry. "Found this completely by accident. Merrill kept telling me how amazing the Viscount gardens are, so one night I snuck a look around and figured that she was right. So, what do you think?"

"I don't like it."

Marian sagged. "Oh. Well is there anywhere else you want to go? What about the-"

"I have something much better to look at," he said, turning his gaze towards her.

She surprised him with a light punch in the arm. "Now, don't you pull that sweet talk trick on me! I'm immune to your charms!"

"Oh, really?" he smirked, pushing his face closer.

The beginnings of a shy smile curled up the corners of her lips. She was about to say something, but suddenly there was the zip and sizzle of an electrical discharge and she jumped to her feet, clutching her bottom.

"Yeow! What gives?" she exclaimed amidst the smell of burnt silk. "Was that a booby trap? Am I on fire?"

Fenris laughed. It was a rare sight, yet so genuine that Marian forgot to be angry for one moment. It didn't last long, but his mirth continued as he bent over and chuckled. He looked up at her through his bangs and smirked.

"Oh, think this is bloody funny, eh?" she huffed. "Well see how _you'd _like it if it happened to you. I'll make sure to tell everyone about it and-"

"Shut up," he said, getting up.

He kissed her again. There was no panache to it, nor his usual awkward charm. It was rough, almost bestial. This was no _Titanic_ deck scene – no damn iceberg was going to put a crimp on their relationship. Humphrey Bogart ain't got nothin' on this elf. Not even Rhett Butler could pour in this much unrestrained passion. Scarlett O'Hara would go green and wonder why she had such an inadequate lover. If Zevran were to witness this, he'd whip out a parchment and start taking notes.

Nobody knew where they were. It was better that way. If anyone did, it would lead to awkward questions like: _What were you doing alone with Fenris? _Or: _Isn't the Viscount gardens off-limits? _And, worse of all: _Does Sebastian know about this? Does Fenris even care?_

No, he's far beyond caring. How can being in love ever be wrong? What sin can he possibly commit simply for _wanting _this woman so badly it hurts his skin? He was already thrice damned as it were: from the moment he'd met her and realized he'd lost his heart. At least the Maker had Andraste...but what does _he _have? A woman destined to belong to another man?

His thumb grazed upon the ring, forcing him to break away with a sigh. He gazed at the cursed sapphire and wished a thousand wishes, each one of them involving Marian.

"Why did you say yes?" he quietly asked.

"Because I can't say no."

"Bollocks. It's something else. I can tell."

"I – Sebastian's a good man. That's all there is to it."

"And I'm not?"

Marian sagged. "Fenris…"

"Call it off," he urged. "There's still time. You don't really love him. Why must you insist on lying to yourself?"

"Oh?" she said with a familiar flash of defiance. She pulled herself away. "And what do _you_ know about my feelings? Are you such an expert now that you presume you can tell me what to do with my future? _You're_ the one who should stop lying. Maker knows I've tried many times to understand you, but it's just difficult. _You've_ made it difficult."

"Then let me make it simple!" he fiercely said, grabbing her shoulders. "You want to marry him? Fine, go ahead. You want to be Viscountess? Then by all means, do so. You want me as your secret lover? I'd gladly offer myself if it means that I get to spend more nights alone with you. How else can I make my intentions clearer to you?"

"Stop right there. Just…stop." She sighed, shaking her head. "Enough of your hot and cold games. You push me away, and then all of a sudden you get all - umph!"

Fenris had kissed her again. And again.

"You talk too much," he breathed into her ear. "And you think too much."

"I thought you said I –aah!- didn't think enoughsfsdjeh." It's hard to be coherent when a smouldering elf was mapping out the contours of her neck. One hand snaked up to undo the laces of her bodice as he worked his way down to her shoulders.

"Marian, stay with me tonight."

* * *

><p>Merrill watched from the shadows, the tiniest hint of a giggle escaping her pressed mouth. That electrical spell was a genius idea! The sight of Hawke getting zapped was priceless, teehee!<p>

The two silhouettes before her gradually melded into one. She sighed. Maybe Hawke and Fenris can be happy together for once. They've been running away from each other so much that it they'll surely end up circling the whole of Thedas.

She looked at the other three sets of eyes taking in the entire scene intently. The tiny elf was half-expecting them to hold up score placards to rate Fenris's kissing performance. A while ago, she was busy looking for the best spot to spy on her best friend…but she bumped into a group of fangirls (and fanboy) instead. Mages too, from the look of things.

"You're the one who helped stop the Arishok!" exclaimed the fanboy as quietly as possible. "Your spells are absolutely _wicked!_ D'you suppose you could teach me?"

Merrill blinked. "You call me wicked, and yet you ask me to teach you? How strange."

"No, what I meant was: you're really amazing to watch! Did you learn that from your Keeper?"

"Most of it, yes."

"Then can you-"

"_Shh!" _ hissed his friend. "They've started talking again!"

* * *

><p><em>Huzzah! Say yes to fabulous sex with your ex! <em>

"No."

"Marian, please. I need you."

She pulled herself away, feeling her own mind rebelling against her. "I –uh- should get back."

"That's it? That's all you have to say? You're going to just sweep me beneath the carpet and move on?"

"Fenris, I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't."

"You brought me here merely to tempt and frustrate me afterwards? Is this your idea of revenge? If it is, then I-"

"It's nothing like that at all! I just…I just can't..." she trailed off, running her hands through her hair in frustration.

"You can't? What is this – some sort of sadistic joke? Not everything can be smoothed over with fun and games, Hawke! You can't just-"

The shout seemingly came from nowhere: _"I've lied to you!"_

Fenris frowned. "About what?"

"_I_ lured Danarius here!"

His expression hardened. "What did you say?"

His tone frightened her, but she babbled on nonetheless. "I went to Minrathous to see him. I thought that by giving up your location, we could finally ambush him in Kirkwall. And it worked too!" Marian paused, watching the elf turn away. "You were _miserable, _Fenris. Six years. Six bloody years being holed up in Hightown, gnawing your fingernails as you wait for him to come. That's no way to live for someone who says he's a free slave. Well I decided to help you get it over and done with and did what I did."

"The Antivan trip," he said quietly. "That was a ruse?"

"Yes. I didn't tell anyone about Minrathous. Well, except for Varric and…and Merrill-"

"_You fool!"_

When he came upon her, he did so with the fury of a demigod. She felt her arms rising up defensively, but he clamped a hand painfully around her wrists, effectively pinning them together while his other hand grabbed her chin. The next thing she knew, he was hissing and spitting in her face.

"_Do you have any idea what could've happened if you were caught?" _he roared. _"How dare you presume I need your help! How dare you make decisions on my behalf! Does it make you sleep better at night, thinking that once again a human have rescued the poor elven slave? What you did was far beyond the scales of stupidity, Hawke. You acted out of your sense of superiority-"_

"_I did it because I _love _you, you blasted twit!" _Marian screamed. Somehow she'd managed to twist herself out of his grip, and was rewarded with bloody score marks where Fenris's claws had gripped.

They glared at each other. "Never before have I gone out on a limb as much as I did for you," she said. "It has always been about you, Fenris. The mansion, Danarius, information about your sister...all of it. You think you were paying Varric, but really it was me working for you. And I did it for free!" She chuckled mirthlessly. "Yes, you heard me right. I worked for free. Can you imagine me going _pro bono?_ I can't at first, but whatever money you channeled to him I gave it back through your wages. You have _no idea_ what else I've been doing just to make sure you stay safe. You think Varric, Aveline and Isabela are the only people who kept the troublemakers away from you? I did all that just for you…hoping that – oh, I don't know – maybe we could start over. But suddenly in the middle of things Sebastian came into the picture, worships me and it got me thinking that maybe you're a lost cause. You've kept me at an arm's length for long enough, Fenris. I'm done."

Marian ended her monologue and took a deep breath. She waited for his response, but when he kept staring, she added: "And that's that."

Finally he looked away, brows furrowed in thought.

"Is it really that hard for you?" she asked. "To accept me?"

Wordlessly, he spun around and started walking away. He didn't stop, didn't even spare her a backward glance as he gradually disappeared from sight.

Marian felt stupid standing there. For the second time in her life, Fenris left her.

As if on cue, it began to rain.

* * *

><p>Episode the next: A pirate's advice about marriage and Sebby's tattoo<p> 


	23. You Can Find Meaning In Friend Fictions

Dragon Age 2 and all of its known characters belong to Bioware

AN: Find The Queen aka Three Card Monte is an old con trick where the con artist shows three cards and one of it is a Queen. Basically he shuffles them facedown and people have to bet on where the Queen is, but they'll never win because the Queen was never on the table to begin with.

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><p>Lowtown was a patchwork of immigrant settlements for those who could afford a classier real-estate than Darktown. Any socialist expert could see that this was the true heart and soul of Kirkwall: nationalities of various shapes and sizes clamouring for existence like vines in a forest.<p>

Marian wandered through the maze-like back alleys, passing by rows of makeshift stalls selling anything from fenced items to exotic pets. A rather heated dice game was going on in one corner - someone was questioning the legitimency of the dealer. Marian smiled wanly to herself. This was an area where the City Guards generally turned their other cheek on. Anyone knew you can't have proper city without the occasional scum. The guards would have nothing to do then.

She exited a side street and suddenly found herself in Rivain. Some Rivanis were gypsies at heart, so it really wasn't surprising to see their brightly painted caravans anywhere in the Free Marches. Sometimes they'd travel in barges, meandering through river currents and stopping by any town or village that would accept them. Isabela had spoken rather condescendingly of her own people, saying that they were nothing more than a race of petty thieves and tricksters, but Marian couldn't help but wonder if the pirate was really talking about her own mother. As far as she was concerned, she found them rather interesting. Anything seemed more interesting compared to her own childhood in Lothering. Her memories consisted of brown blobs of mud and dull rustic humour...interspersed by bright moments of Carver bullying and beating up the rest of the village boys for harassing Bethany. Her life only picked up when she visited Denerim - but that was a different chapter for another story altogether.

At the moment, she was prepared to forget her troubles and slip into a crowd around the fire pit, watching a veiled dancer gyrate her hips to the haunting tunes of a mandolin. She wore tiny bells on her fingers and toes; and they chimed to the beat as she twirled and slinked her way around the makeshift stage. Her movements were snake-like, every flutter of her smoky lashes broke hearts and created dreams. This was entertainment incomparable anywhere - none of the Blooming Rose dancers could muster a performance as seductive as this. Even Marian found herself contemplating a dark fantasy of her own, disturbed only by the sound of a familiar chuckling beside her.

"The Mating Dance. Extremely popular anywhere. The title alone explains it, no?" said Isabela, crossing her arms over her generous bosom. "There's even a birthing dance. When someone's about to give birth, a group of women would gather around her and they'd dance together. Apparently it's to help ease the babe into the world. Can't say whether it worked or not. Anyway, fancy meeting you here, love. Don't tell me you're here for the fortune tellers? They're frauds, all of them. Don't waste your money."

"I somehow knew you'd be here," Marian smiled, turning towards her friend.

"Whoah, looks like someone had a good Satinalia yesterday," said Isabela, noting the scratches on her cheek. "Who'd you spend it with? I know it's not Sebastian, because he's out of town doing goodness-knows-what. It's definitely not Anders, because you can't stand his prattling. You weren't at Varric's shindig, so that leaves only one person..."

Marian made a face. "Ah, now you _had_ to remind me of yesterday. And I was doing such a good job not thinking about it, too."

"That bad, eh? I would've imagined that the make-up sex was mind-blowing, but I guess I was wrong."

"There wasn't any. He - well, he'd propositioned - but I said no."

"No? Wait, this is Fenris we're talking about, yes? Not some poor sap you dragged along for some pity date because you've got no one else to go with. Why'd you say no?"

"Be bad if I said yes, wouldn't it?"

"Hah! Everyone knows it's not cheating if nobody knows about it. You're just being stupid, Hawke."

"Maybe I am. Maybe I am..." Marian sighed as she dragged her gaze back towards the dancer. She'd got a few spectators joining her on the stage and they were gamely bobbing along despite not knowing the steps.

Isabela quietly studied her friend's profile. She'd known Marian well enough to recognize the troubled lines on her face.

"Oy, oy, what's this really about, then?" she clucked. "So things went south with Fenris. It's not as difficult as you may think, you know. It happens to the best of us. If I'm reading things right, you're no longer sure about Sebastian now that Fenris has gone all touchy feely on you again. Honestly, I think that stupid elf must be a woman in his past life. I've never met anyone as fickle as him."

"Sebastian's given me an ultimatum."

"_'Either me or him'_, eh? You _know_ he's bound to sniff out Fenris sooner or later. That man's smarter than he looks."

"I never said he was stupid."

"And I never said you said he was stupid," Isabela shot back. "The answer's pretty clear, isn't it? You love Fenris, but you wouldn't sleep with him when you're still tied to Sebastian. Honestly, this whole loyalty issue of yours does tend to get the best of you."

"Is it clear, Isabela? Because from where I'm standing, I no longer know which way's right or left anymore. I've got..._reasons_ for marrying Sebastian."

"Oh? And what's that?"

"Nothing. It's stuff you wouldn't understand."

Isabela's amber eyes narrowed at this. "I wouldn't, eh? Well, let me just tell you the truth about marriage and you see for yourself how much I'd understand," she growled, elbowing Marian hard in the ribs. "They're _shackles_, invented by churches and gods as a way to earn more legitimate worshippers. Everything starts with roses and sonnets, and three months down the road he finds the serving wench far more interesting and you're nothing more than part of the furniture. And don't get me started on the sex."

"Sex? What about-"

"Forget about post-coital cuddles. Once he's done, he'll flop off like a dead whale and fall asleep even faster. Marriages are a sham, Hawke. That spark, combustion or whatever form of explosion you could think of to describe your initial feelings will fizzle the moment you sign on the dotted line. So I'm telling you as a good friend: don't do it. Stick to casual flings instead."

Marian blinked. "That's - er - rather extreme."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were expecting the romantic, candyflossed version. Shall I tell you about the pink unicorns, then? Or the pixies farting sparkly dust over your heads? It's the truth, love. Don't come crying to me when he starts groping tits, and it sure as hells not yours."

"Isabela, you _do_ realize Sebastian's running a city someday. We both can't afford to do 'casual flings'. People tend to expect something more than that."

"Oh, tomatoes, tom_a_toes," said Isabela, rolling her eyes. "Fine: call it a 'civil union', then. Royalty, merchants…it's all the same. Everything's a business at the end of the day. Just have him draw up a mutual agreement should you ever – ah – separate for whatever reason. Make sure you're both clear on who gets what. In my case, I was lucky to get everything. Can't help you with children, though. They're already sticky enough as it is. Let's see…have I covered all the bases? Yes, I think I just did." Isabela stood back, beaming. "Any questions?"

Marian opened her mouth –

"Oh, and you might want to be chummy with Zevran," Isabela bulldozed on. "You know, just in case. Good chap to have in and out of your trousers. Sure, you're a bona fide assassin yourself, but I'm not entirely sure where Starkhaven stands in terms of their ruler getting offed by their own wives. In some places, it's called crime of passion and it's a hanging offense. But if the husband were to do it, they'd call it a bloody divine justice or somesuch rot and put up a statue of him. Unfair, I know…but there you have it. Never hurts to do a little bit of research yourself. It's amazing what loopholes you can find if you studied the law books closely enough."

"Wow. You've certainly done your homework. How much time have you spent researching this?"

"Experience, Hawke. Can't ever beat that. Look: you marry, you don't marry...neither does any difference to me. No one can give you a straight up answer except yourself. So stop beating yourself up over this and start making decisions. It may not be the right one, but it certainly won't be the worst one."

"Thanks...I guess," Marian said uncertainly.

"Sorry, love. Wish I could offer you something more. Speaking of which: has that fiance of your shown you his tattoo yet?"

"He's got one?" Marian frowned.

"So he hasn't. Haha! It was supposed to be a surprise. Idea courtesy of Yours Truly, of course," Isabela preened. "Anyway, this was years ago...way before his Chantry days. Same plot, different setting. Your lover boy's got himself hammered, shagged a then-unknown Rivani woman, and woke up with her name tattooed on his right forearm. Ever wondered why he never rolls up his sleeves?"

Marian's scowl grew deeper. "And this is supposed to be a surprise…how? You're saying that you were that Rivani woman?"

"Hang on to your knickers for a mo', will ya? I'm not finished yet. So he showed me this unfortunate tattoo, and I laughed, saying that all he had to do was add an 'N' at the end, and he'll never have to worry about you getting all shirty over his ex. You'll be none the wiser…except that now you are, since I've gone and flapped my big mouth again. Ahem."

"You do realize I've no idea what you're talking about, don't you?"

Isabela sighed exasperatedly, as if it was the most obvious of explanations and Marian was just too dumb to see it. "The woman's name, was Maria. You get it now?"

"Riiight…" Marian paused, a thought suddenly striking her. "How the hells did you know this, anyway?"

"At the Blooming Rose," Isabela said simply. "We met, had drinks and swapped childhood stories."

"Sebastian? At the Blooming Rose?" Marian said in incredulous tones. "Heh, pull the other one, Isabela."

"I'm not joking! He came there to harass Madam Lusine about some of her employees-"

"Why the _blazes_ would he do that?"

"You didn't know? People are getting desperate nowadays. That place has been taking in children – either kidnapped or sold off by their parents – and I'm sure you know they're not there to scrub floors. So apparently your lover boy's been spending every last bit of coin he has rescuing these little 'uns and bundling them off to a shelter home. He had the sisters and priests teach them basic living skills so that they'd be able to find work once they're old enough. Very…noble," Isabela sighed, enunciating the last word as if it had the same meaning as 'stupid', "but that's your Sebbykins right there."

"No wonder he told me he didn't have any savings!" Marian exclaimed. "I've always assumed it was because he blew it all off on armour polish or pomade!"

"What, ten sovereigns over hair products? Come on, Hawke. Obviously you don't know him as well as you should. And I can't help but wonder why. Could it be that you don't _want_ to?"

"Stop speculating, Isabela. It's not your area."

"Shut down twice in one night. I daresay you're getting far too twitchy about this matter. Something else you're not telling me, hm?"

Marian said nothing. Isabela had touched a nerve, and it was best during such times for her to either laugh it off or just stay quiet. But she wasn't in a joking mood, and Isabela was perceptive enough to pick it up.

"Listen: if you've got time to mope about, then you've got time to do something else," said the pirate, handing over a leatherbound manuscript. "So instead of doing a Fenris, why don't you have a read through my friend fiction and tell me what you think? At the very least it'll keep you preoccupied and hopefully give out a few giggles. It's not polished yet, mind you. You can still see those notes Varric made at the sides."

Marian stared at the cover dumbly, a niggling thought worming its way out and eventually reaching her mouth. "Doing a Fenris?" she asked.

"Oh, you know! _Brooding!_ That's what the peabrained elf does everyday, right?"

"Oh! Right. Um, Isabela...I'm sure your story's nice and all, but I don't think I have the-"

"Just read it through once. Please? Call it a favour. I promise I'll pay you in rum. Give me an honest opinion and I won't bother you with it anymore."

Marian sighed. "Fine. I'll have a look later."

"Brilliant!" Isabela beamed. "I knew I could count on you! Now, howsabout we go drinks hunting, or are you more interested in learning the Mating Dance? It _could_ come as useful to you someday, you know..."

* * *

><p>Marian fluffed up the pillows against the headboard and sank herself into the downy softness. The gumbo she had with Isabela earlier was tasty, but her stomach were now complaining slightly at its spiciness. Apparently Rivain's specialty wasn't so much on it food, but more on its spices. Marian made a mental note for another visit sometime next week.<p>

She briefly wondered how things would've turned out if she was born a Rivani. She could pull off the whole bohemian romanticism thing, and eking out a living from fake fortune telling and seances was something she's completely at home with. Why, she'd been playing Find The Queen tricks and rigged dice games in Denerim ever since she was sixteen. She'd started off her life by fooling people because she knew that leading a soldier's life like Carver wouldn't bring in half as much money.

Even now she drifted in a comfortable haze of memories as she recalled her finest conning moment. It was the Andraste's Ashes Pilgrimage scam. With brochures, official-looking documents, a set of stolen Chantry sister robes and a temporary office registered under a fake name, she'd promised a grand tour of the Grey Warden's trail route to the prophetess's final resting place for a modest fee. She managed to fleece about 1500 sovereigns off hopeful devotees and was halfway back to Lothering before anyone realized she was gone. The family lived like kings for months, and everybody assumed she got the money from odd jobs...everyone except her father, of course. The man was sharper than a fox, and he did naught but exchange a few quiet yet stern words to shame her for life. But that didn't make her stop, oh no. A week afterwards he was gone, and all promises of turning over a new leaf disappeared when Marian was faced with the hard task of providing for the family again.

She shifted on the bed, disturbed by that particular memory, when her eyes fell on Isabella's manuscript lying innocuously on the bedside dresser. She chuckled to herself. _Why not?_ She'd promised that damned woman, anyway.

Picking it up, she settled herself into a more comfortable position and started reading. _A Siren's Conquest_. Hmph, seems ominous. Why does all of Isabela's works had to sound like some sort of sordid romance bonkfest?

"_Did you hear that?" asked the Pirate Queen. "It is the sound of your freedom fluttering away. How does it feel, falling from the hands of one master into another?" _

"_I see none as my master!" proclaimed Penris, standing proud despite the chains encircling his glistening body. Every movement of his coiled muscles were lapped up greedily by the Pirate Queen's eyes. Already she was imagining how those hands would feel like rubbing against her-_

"It's only the first chapter and already there's smut?" Marian wondered aloud. "Where's the summary on this thing, anyway?"

_He pounced on her, then, like a tiger after its prey. They grappled for dominance, here within the sultry confines of the Pirate Queen's room. _

"_No! We mustn't do this!" exclaimed the Pirate Queen. "My husband could come in at any time!"_

"_Oh, but we must," purred Penris as his fingers deftly flicked her corset lacings apart. "The fact that we might be discovered only makes it more exciting, no? Besides, did you not tell me that I can only win my freedom by finding the key. Now, where can you possibly hide it? Could it be…over here?"_

"_N-no, not there! Please!" the Pirate Queen whimpered as she felt him lift her skirts-_

Marian hurriedly flipped over a few pages.

_Her breathing became erratic as he hovered over her. What was this feeling? Not even her husband could elicit such wanton stirrings of passion within her. Perhaps the Maker had finally answered her prayers and sent her a man worthy enough to conquer her heart. But why must it be him? Their love was truly a forbidden one, for never would the world accept such love between a slave and her master. Perhaps her husband did know about her unfulfilled feelings, and had Penris delivered to her as a means of taunting her. _

"_Why must things be complicated?" the Pirate Queen asked, a single tear escaping her beautiful eyes. _

_Penris bent over and tenderly brushed the tear away. "Hush now, love," he said. "It is very unbecoming for a siren like you to cry. Let us only think of now, and the time that we have together. I promise I shall make it as memorable for you as it will be for me." _

"_We don't have-"_

_But all forms of protest were silence as he melded his lips against hers. Before she even knew it, she found her hands clawing against his skin, wanting him so badly to the point of combusting. Was this normal? What would anyone say if they found out? All of those thoughts became trivial the moment he deepened the kiss and gently slid a hand over her womb as if to prepare her for what was to come. _

"Oh, brother," Marian muttered as she skipped over a few pages more.

_He flicked his xxx over her xxx as he pounded his abc into her xxx-_

"WHAAAT THE HELLS?" Marian erupted. "THIS IS A T-RATED FIC, YOU STUPID COW! WE CAN'T TALK ABOUT SUCH THINGS IN FRONT OF THE KIDS! GRRR!" Her hands became a blur as she started ripping out pages from the manuscript. "And what's with the 20-page essay on foreplay and sex, anyway? You think anyone would be interested in such drivel? I know you've been wanting to screw Fenris, so quit hiding it with Penris! What kind of name is that? It's one letter away from being obscene, moron!"

Marian forced herself to calm down. Bits of paper were still drifting down around her as she sat back and took a deep breath. _It's just a story, Marian. Don't get yourself worked up. You need to be objective if you want to give a good critique._

"Ok," she said, picking up the manuscript again. "Moving along."

_It's been a while since the Pirate Queen saw Bassy last. The Starkers Prince had been troubled by his own personal issues and it showed from the way he carried himself. As always, he tried to hide it with one of his benevolent smiles as he greeted her, but of course the Queen wasn't one to beat around the bush. _

"_Mary giving you grief again?" she asked. "Honestly, I can't understand why you'd still stick up to that woman when all she does is moon over another man. You can do better than this, Bassy." _

"_But…but I love her!" said the prince as he lapsed into his usual cloud of milkmaid dreaminess. "She is everything that I'd hoped for in a woman."_

"_Then you're obviously not hoping enough. I know she's a fantastic girl and all, but maybe you should start considering the possibility that you might be wasting your time with her. Think about it: she said she'd marry you, but why is she still off gallivanting away with that Manders? Maybe you're not being assertive enough." _

"H-Hey, why does this plot sound familiar?" Marian asked as her fingers twitched dangerously again.

"_Assertive?" _

"_Yes. You know: blow down her door, sweep her off her feet and proclaim that you want her all to yourself before you give her a rogering so wild she couldn't think of anyone else but you from then onwards. That kind of assertive." _

"_But…but," Bassy stuttered, clutching his Chantry rosary tightly within his hands. "My vows-"_

"_I've read the booklet thoroughly, pretty boy," said the Pirate Queen, poking him hard in the chest. "And there's no part in there that says Chantry brothers should be celibate. So why are you denying your basic manly rights when she's allowing an all-free access to herself towards someone else? Huh? Try finding that answer in your prayer books, Bassy." _

"_That's impossible. I've tried getting close to her, you know. In my own way. I've asked her out so many times, but she'd always find some excuse not to come. I've tried getting her to talk about our wedding, but she refused, saying that she wanted to concentrate on her career first. I know I can't properly support her with my pension fund, but I do try to get jobs outside of my churchly duties. I _must_ do that. I'd do anything to make Mary happy!" _

"_Anything?" asked the Pirate Queen shrewdly._

"_Anything except selling my organs and sleeping with you, of course." _

"_Huh, as if I'd want to. You'd probably be a vanilla in the sack just like the rest of your appearance. Anyway, Sebastian…-_

"Haha! Definitely a typo there," Marian said triumphantly. "Using him and myself as fodder for your fiction. I should sue you for royalties, Isabela."

"…_Clearly you're not the one in the wrong here." _

"_I'm not?" asked the prince._

"_Sure. Anyone with enough brain cells could see that Mary's done you a great injustice. She doesn't give you ample fighting chance to show just what a great person you really are. Does she even take the time to get to know you? No. Does she appreciate your attempts of getting close to her? No. All she did was agree to marry you, and that's it. Sounds rather fishy, don't you think? If she doesn't care about you, why'd she say yes? Maybe she's just using you to make Manders jealous. Have you ever thought of that?" _

"_No, I – never – she wouldn't do that…would she?" _

"_Aha, she's not as sugary sweet as you thought once you see her that way, yes?"_

Marian closed the book. She'd read enough to know what Isabela was really trying to say. So she's nothing more than an opportunistic vulture, eh? Feynriel and Anders had felt the same way. It wouldn't seem so bad too if Sebastian was a bastard to begin with. But no. Sebastian was this honourable and unconditionally kind individual whom she was steering for her own selfish means. It came as no surprise that she was the real villain in this story. It was completely different from her Andraste's Ashes scam. She didn't know those people, but she _knew _Sebastian. Perhaps far better than she'd care to admit.

How many times had he saved her life? Countless. Did she ever thank him personally? Not that she could remember. During skirmishes, was there ever a time when she saw him – or any of her companions, for that matter - as something more than potential human shields while she quietly stalked the battlefield and struck from the shadows in her usual cowardly manner?

Marian groaned and dug herself further beneath the covers as a means of escaping from her sense of guilt. If she was the villain, then she'd make a lousy one - for villains weren't supposed to have any remorse. Why can't she just be the quintessential cackling maniac who'd blow everything up just for the fun of it?

Well, Isabela's friend fiction had been an eye-opener. Marian wasn't sure what the woman's real purpose of writing this damned thing, but she was positive it wasn't unintentional. Maybe she really was more transparent to her friends than she thought.

Whatever it was, Marian knew exactly what to do now.

* * *

><p>Isabela got back her manuscript the next day, looking considerably thinner and worn down than usual. Some of the pages had been torn and glued hastily together. She turned a dumbfounded face towards Marian, who in turn avoided her gaze and grunted out: "Too much smut, too little plot. Add some funny bits, dammit. I like a bloody good laugh."<p>

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><p>Episode the next: Meteor showers and apologies go together<p>

AN2: Thanks to Templum Digital, one of my artwork's selected to be a part of their 2nd monthly issue gallery. It's titled 'Dealing With Pickup Lines. Since this site is bitchy over links, just google Templum Digital and there'll be links to download their free issues. Sorry for the late updates, guys. Anybody seen Dawn of the Seeker yet?


	24. Work Seems Carefree When Gazing At Stars

Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

AN: Sebby fluff ahoy! Sorry, Fenris camp...this chapter may not be satisfactory to you.

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><p>At the ripe age of sixty, Father Gilmore should be enjoying a plum position as a senior cleric at the Chantry. But the poor man had the tendency to sweat at the mention of the word 'titillate' and faint upon seeing a woman's bare ankles, so much so that a simple trip to the market during a windy autumn afternoon could send him to the nearest hospice.<p>

Once, as a joke from his fellow brothers, he was told to bring Andraste's light and ease the suffering of the poor, wretched ladies of the Blooming Rose. The poor fellow didn't last three seconds in there. Finally, Elthina sent him off on a mission far away from the outreaches of the city, and he was happily leading a hermit's life somewhere in the Free Marches forests, preaching every now and then to the occasional tree or bear. Sometimes, when there really was no one, he'd talk to the sky.

He sat on a makeshift bench outside his hut, arthritic hands resting on top of his walking stick as he closed his eyes and listened contentedly to the sounds of nature. The firewood needed chopping again, and for once he was more than happy to let someone else do it for him.

"Interesting weather we've been having lately, eh Benjamin?" he said conversationaly. "Plenty of rain. Good for them plants. You like plants?"

Sebastian grunted, and brought the axe down.

"They're fine, I suppose," he said as both halves of the wood toppled onto the ground. "But I'm afraid I'm not known for my green fingers. Sister Petrice says it's because I have far too much heat within me, although I'm not entirely sure what she meant by that." He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat off his brows. Running household errands for the old man was strenuous enough for him to ditch his usual armour, and now he was comfortably dressed in a simple undershirt and trousers. For once he'd rolled up his sleeves, exposing his past to the world…but out here in the midst of nature, the only thing that could see it were trees, so he wasn't all too concerned about fending awkwardly probing questions from them.

"Sister Petrice, eh? She that annoying brat who talks too much about her melons?"

Sebastian coughed diplomatically. It really wasn't his place to badmouth any fellow member of the cloth.

"She's very proud of them, yes," he said. "She won a blue ribbon at the farming festival for having the best set of melons." He frowned, realizing how wrong the sentence sounded.

"Bah! Melons are so overrated. You know what works for me? Cucumbers, boy. Cucumbers!"

"Cucumbers, huh? They're rather good. But again, I'm no expert. My apologies."

"You don't need to be an expert to grow healthy cucumbers. See, you gotta get 'em all big and hard enough first, and then you suck on 'em till you get all the juices flowing. Myself I like them young ones. More zesty, y'see."

"I shall take your word for it, Father Gilmore."

"You're just agreeing to everything I say, Skippy! Feh, is that what they've been teaching in schools nowadays? To lose their backbones to the elders? No wonder our society's deteriorating! What'll happen to our city once we leave it to you soppy upstarts, eh?"

Sebastian's expression darkened. Right now Father Gilmore was talking more like a disgruntled senior citizen than a priest, and he wasn't entirely sure how that old man could get those ideologies in the first place. It's not like he's been spending that much time in the city.

"I'm not one to profess knowledge over things I don't understand, Father," he said, swinging the axe with far more vigour than he should. A shower of splinters shot up to his face. "Better to admit our stupidity than open our mouths and prove that we are. Is this plenty enough wood for you?"

"Just a few more, there's a good chap. You never really told me what brought you out here. Running away from privy duties, are you? Heheh. I can understand that. For a buncha pious people, we sure are messy when we do our businesses, no?"

"It's nothing like that at all."

"Something's bothering you, Sonny Jim, sure as eggs're eggs. What is it? They came up short with the tithe collections again? I'm telling ya: it's Brother Milfer's doing. He always squirrels away a bit to bet on them nug wrestling tournaments over at Lowtown. Does anyone ever listen to me? Of _course_ not!"

"Brother Milfer's dead, Father. He volunteered for the war and…never got back."

"Him? Dead? You're joking, right?"

"I normally don't about these things. He has truly left us to join the Maker."

"Blast it! Just when you think you'd be the first one to go, somebody else kicks the bucket before you do. Whatever happened to first come first served, eh? I'm the eldest of the lot, am I not? Instead, some wo- some wo- some…some…"

"Some what, Father Gilmore?" Sebastian asked, turning towards the man.

"Sammy, you weren't followed when you came here, were you?"

"No, of course not. Why?"

"That rabbit path…nobody knows about it, right?"

"You mean the one I used to get here? No. But you had that peddlar come over every week for supplies, so it's not exactly a secret. And two days ago, bandits stumbled over here by accident. If it weren't for me, things would've ended very badly for you."

"So I ain't hallucinating? There's really a woman standing there? Me eyes aren't like it used to be."

"Woman? What-?" Sebastian asked, turning around. His expression changed immediately. "Oh."

Marian was bent over, hands resting squarely on her knees. She was panting heavily as if she just got off from a brief sprint. She straightened up, saw the two of them, and waved.

"I think…I saw a bear…back there," she said. "Can't be sure, because I started running before it woke up."

"What does it want?" Father Gilmore asked.

"I don't know. Didn't get a chance to ask," replied Marian as she made her way towards them. "Hallo, Sebastian. Elthina said I'd find you here."

"No, no! I meant you. Billy, ask her what she wants. Tell her I don't need no newspaper subsciptions."

"What are you doing here, Marian?" Sebastian asked.

"Seeing you, of course. We need to talk. But first, 'scuse me Padre," said Marian, taking a seat beside Father Gilmore. She began to undo the lacings of her left boot. "Nice place you got here. I had to ask three people for directions, but thankfully they know this area pretty well. Heh, when they say you're spreading Chants all over the place, I never imagined that they'd do it out here as well. Preaching to nature, eh? Speaking of which, they've got a nasty habit of leaving presents inside your clothes, don't they?"

"Er, what are you doi-?" Sebastian began.

Her boot came off with a leathery pop. She upended it and began shaking it about. "Damn pebbles. Got myself in a rocky patch as I got here. Although these're not as bad as having a frog inside your bedroll, but still-"

Father Gilmore had gone a funny shade of pale. His eyes goggled when they were presented with the sight of a lovely woman's ankles. Exquisitely curvy, creamy skin streched over perfect bone structures, and – much to the man's secret delight – a small mole near her heel. Marian had her toenails painted a fresh shade of red, but he didn't care about that. The only image he could entertain was of was her bending over and picking up things on the floor and the hem of her skirt would hitch up a tantalizing bit and-

"_Father Gilmore!" _Sebastian exclaimed as the old man toppled over in an overloading cloud of ankle ecstasy.

Marian froze as she watched Sebastian caught him and hoisted him up. A disapproving click of his tongue prompted her to ask: "That wasn't my fault…was it? Does my foot smell that bad?"

Sebastian threw her a frown over his shoulder as he brought Father Gilmore inside the hut.

* * *

><p>Nighttime had fallen when Marian joined Sebastian at the overlooking ridge near Father Gilmore's hut. The archer provided a striking silhouette as he stood outlined against the twinkling evening sky. Already she could imagine his contemplative expression as he looked across the forested vista towards Kirkwall. She stopped for a moment to quietly study him until he said, without turning around: "I can hear you breathing, Marian."<p>

Marian broke into her trademark grin. "You know what this place needs?" she asked, making her way towards him. "A swing. Father Gilmore's got a nice beech here-" she paused to tap the tree near them. "Or maybe he could move that bench of his over. This view is too amazing to go to waste. Might as well find a way to appreciate it. He's – um – he's going to be alright…right?"

"Let's just say that he has a…fixation towards a certain female bodypart."

Marian gasped, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I _knew_ it! He's been eyeing my tits ever since I got here! That dirty old man!"

"No, not that. He's fascinated with ankles."

"A fetishist, eh? So what does he do? Wait until you're asleep and then stare at your feet the whole night?"

Sebastian sighed. "Marian, enough with the small talk. What are you really doing here?" he asked in exasperated tones.

"Aren't you going to ask how I managed to find you?"

"You asked Elthina. You already told me."

"Yes, but she said that you were on a-" at this point Marian hooked her fingers to form quotation marks, "- _'Contemplative journey'. _If that isn't Chantry code for 'I'm buggering off somewhere just to have a big sulk', then I don't know what is. Listen, if this is some religious thing you have to do on your own, then I'll leave you alone. I just…felt like seeing you. That's all."

"Well, I'm right here. What else are you planning to do?"

"Ok, so you're playing it cold and aloof. That's fine." Marian took a nervous breath and let it out slowly, as if steeling herself for the next subject. "Last time I checked, we still have a few things to talk about."

"I'm listening."

"I'm not going to just _talk, _Sebastian. I came for a confession. It'll be my first, mind you, so it's going to be a bit long."

"Confession?" Sebastian echoed. "You can do that at the Chantry. Elthina will be more than happy to sit with you-"

"Ah, no. This requires the services of a specific person."

He turned around, then, to face her. She looked back at him with a smile, but the anxious twitching of her fingers were a clear enough indication of how she was truly feeling. He already knew, right then, exactly what she was going to talk about.

"Very well," he said. This place was as good as any for a confession – unorthodox as it may be. He got down to his knees on the grass and motioned for her to do the same. She went and settled herself before him, mirroring his posture perfectly. Clasping her hands as if in prayer, she bowed her head and began:

"First of, I just want to say-"

"Forgive me, Brother…for I have sinned," Sebastian interrupted gruffly.

"Oh, sorry. Forgive me, Brother…for I have sinned. It has been-" Marian scrunched her face as she made a quick mental calculation, "…thirty-one years, three months and eleven days since my last confession. So you can very well see that the Maker and I aren't exactly bosom friends, hehe," she chuckled. When that elicited no response from Sebastian, she sobered up instantly. "Um, so…I don't really know how to do this."

"Take your time, Sister Hawke," said Sebastian. "Close your eyes and imagine that you're alone. Then speak to the Maker as if He is right here, listening to you."

Marian was taken aback. It felt strange when he called her 'Sister Hawke', but she knew he was merely slipping into his professional persona. It was his duty, after all, to act as an intermediary between his flock and the Maker.

She looked up at the stars. They winked back, their lights taking ten thousand years to finally reach her. But she wouldn't be able to see them by then. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a huge vacuum opening up in space where the Maker had stopped whatever He was doing and was waiting for her to speak.

"I have deceived my betrothed," she finally said. "He is a man pure of heart and honest of intentions. He is many things to other people, but to me, he's a close friend first and foremost…and a lover second. He has chosen to accept me despite my faults, and has been extremely patient with my mistakes. It is for this very reason that I…" Marian swallowed nervously, "…cannot marry him."

Fighting the urge to peek at Sebastian's expression, she went on: "I have ulterior motives when I accepted his proposal. I thought that he, out of all the people that I know, could grant me a better stability in terms of my…future endeavours. But it has been a mistake, and I've only realized it now. He's leaning on me as heavily as I on him, basing our union over foundations we do not yet possess. But that would only be a destructive catalyst to our relationship in the long run. I do not wish that on him, for I…care about him too much."

Marian frowned slightly. That last bit had came out of nowhere. "I've been having illicit…goings on with another man. One from my past whom I couldn't seem to let go. But even time and circumstance had proven that I can, and will. If not for my sake, then for Seb- I mean, my betrothed."

"You mean, you and Fenris are no more?"

Marian shook her head. "We have too many – ah – unresolved differences. Rather than work on something that's meant to be broken, I think it's best that I focus on something more worthwhile."

"And what is that?"

"My sister," said Marian. She paused for a moment to reconsider the things she was about to say. She'd already decided that she can't marry Sebastian, so things couldn't get any worse if he didn't want to have anything to do with her once she told him her plans. "I wish to liberate her from her prison-"

"You mean, break her out of the Circle?"

"Yes. It was a decision I made the day she was taken, and it is something I'm going through no matter what. She was also partly the reason I'd agreed to marry you – I mean, my betrothed –"

"I believe we are so far into this confession that you can stop speaking in third party perspectives. Go on."

"Fine. I thought that once she's out, I'd be in a much better position to protect her if I either have a strong political ally…or hold a powerful position myself. So you retaking Starkhaven is a perfect cover - I'd have a place to hide her safely then. Your city's Circle is no more, and I don't see any reason for the Templars to be around."

"They'll be rebuilding the Circle again, you know," Sebastian interrupted.

"Yeah, well. I'll worry about that when it happens. Everybody's talking about me being Viscountess, but with all the trouble going around in Kirkwall, I'm not sure if that post would be mine within the next five years. I can't afford to wait, not with Meredith laying the heat on mages and threatening the Right of Annulment at every chance she got. Bethany could be dead tomorrow, and everything that I'd worked for will be for nothing."

"So you stealing and studying Circle plans had nothing to do with helping mages or Anders?"

Marian opened her eyes in surprise. Sebastian treated her with a level gaze, indicating that he's getting a straight answer from her by hook or by crook. "How did you-? Have you been snooping around my room?" she sputtered.

"Flora told me. Looks like your secret plan isn't as secret as you'd hoped."

"Well, how did _she_ know, then? She's really been stalking me, hasn't she?"

"We're getting off topic. Continue with your confession."

"I didn't go to Antiva after my mother died. I was at Minrathous, meeting up with Danarius. I wanted to lure him over to Kirkwall, but unfortunately it…didn't go well. I blackmailed Seneschal Bran into giving Fenris his mansion. In fact, I did a lot of things for him when the one person I should've paid attention to was you. I'm a fraud, Sebastian. A two-timing kleptomaniac. The only thing I'm really good at is lying, and it'd worked so well that I've even fooled myself. I'm not a good woman to be with. So there. The end. Please smite me with holy righteousness and then forgive me, Seb- Brother."

Sebastian lowered his head, and for a moment his face was shrouded in shadows.

"This betrothed of yours," he said. "Do you love him?"

"Love?" said Marian, that word sounding alien in her ears for a moment. _How do you really define that? _"Um…probably not in the way that he'd hoped, but in my part…well…if you strip away the brief moments of paralyzing terror, and-"

Sebastian spoke again, in a much louder and firmer voice: "Do you love him?"

"Yes. Yes, I love him. Not in a brother sister way, because that'd be incest. More of a fuzzy, hot chocolate feeling. Oh, Maker. This isn't romantic, is it?" Marian said wretchedly.

Sebastian said nothing, watching her secretly as she fidgeted with her hands. So his suspicions had been confirmed. It had been bad to hear it from someone else, but for Marian to confess everything outright didn't make it hurt any less. At least with Flora he had a window of doubt to look out to, a somewhat frail hope that maybe she was wrong. But he sadly knew now that the real Marian could never be the Marian inside his head.

His eyes suddenly widened. She'd made a distressed sound and threw herself onto the ground, prostrating herself before him.

"My promise is still good," she said, her voice coming out muffled as she mumbled into the grass. "I'll do everything in my power to help you regain Starkhaven. I know how important it is to you. You can even start considering me as your loyal subject. I'll memorize your national anthem, I'll even wear your colours everyday…although I'm not entirely sure what King Alistair has to say once he sees that I do, and –oh!"

Sebastian had grabbed her by the elbows and hauled her up, eyes blazing as he stared at her with such frightening intensity.

"Do you think I'd _care_ about that at this point?" he demanded. "If you really knew what's important to me, then a piddling crown is the _least _of my concerns! Let some idiot take over the throne! But if anything, _anything _were to happen to you, I will kill the person who did it…even if that person is Fenris. Don't you get it, Marian? Will you _ever _get it?"

With that he pulled her into a rib-crushing hug.

"You're too important for me to lose," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "I don't care about the Champion, the Viscountess, or the lying thief. I only care about _you. _Put that inside your silly head from now on."

"Sebastian, I can't breathe!"

He eased his grip so that he could look at her, but he still held her close. "I must admit: I feel terrible about you breaking off our engagement."

"Sorry," said Marian. "It'd be dishonest of me if we're to continue."

"Does this mean an indefinite break…or a permanent one?"

"Let's just talk about this again once we're both ready."

"You're right," he said with a sigh. "There's still too many things for us to worry about. But you should know that I love you, Marian. Do you understand what that means?"

"I…get to keep the ring?" she said impishly.

He chuckled. "Yes. Among other things."

They kissed then. Marian was the one who initiated it. She closed her eyes and half-expected to see Fenris's face like she usually did, but she was pleasantly surprised to see Sebastian instead. She smiled against his mouth, and deepened the kiss. Sebastian leaned forth in response, a bit too eagerly, and almost pushed her over backwards. For now he'd kept his hands over the gentlemanly zones, but Maker how he _ached_ to touch her in places where he could make her scream.

As if reading his thoughts, Marian lowered herself onto the ground, and tugged him on top of her. He readily pressed his weight over her, taking care not to crush her in process. It had got to the stage where racing pulses and dilated irises were clear enough signs for them to either stop, or dive deeper past the point of no return. Marian didn't care how things would go from then onwards, but Sebastian hesitated, pulling himself away with a groan. She looked up at him quizzically. He gave her a reassuring smile, placing a finger over her lips and then kissing her forehead.

"I can't, love," he said. "I want to give you something more than an outdoor shag. Besides, Father Gilmore could see us."

Marian chuckled. "And what? Have a nosebleed and faint again for seeing both of my ankles? What's with that fetish, anyway?"

"I don't know. But I have a thing for funny rogues with hearts of gold myself."

"Ohhh…you mean Varric?"

They both laughed. And kissed again. Marian opened her eyes to the heavens and suddenly gasped.

"Hey, look!" she said excitedly.

Sebastian did, and saw streaks of light lancing across the sky and disappearing into the horizon. They fell in a sporadic pattern, like early drops of rain.

"Meteor shower," he breathed, gazing with amazement.

"Ooh, they're beautiful! Here, lie down beside me. It looks better this way."

Marian wriggled aside to make room. He lay on his back and they watched the astronomical display in silence, speaking only to point out particularly bright stars. Suddenly Marian saw them both as children, sprawled over the barn's roof and counting out constellations and trying to guess how many stars there actually were in the universe. A pang suddenly washed over her. Things certainly seemed carefree if one were to spend their time looking at night skies. Perhaps in another life she didn't face as much troubles as she was now.

She felt Sebastian's hand curling over hers. She smiled. Maybe in that other life she didn't have him as well. Now _that_ is unacceptable.

"Makes you feel small, doesn't it?" she said. "All that space in the heavens, and you know you're being watched."

"I'm starting to think that your faith in the Maker is far stronger than you imagined," said Sebastian, a grin obvious in his voice. "He's not just up there, Marian. He's all around us. As a matter of fact, I'm seeing Him inside you."

"Hah, so you're saying I'm a god now?"

"We're all gods. We are, after all, an extension of His being. It doesn't matter whether you believe in Him or not. He believes in you. I know that sometimes you think you can't change the circumstances of life. I'm afraid that's the truth, love. There are just certain things you have to accept."

Marian's grin faded. "I'm starting to hate this lecture already."

"Listen, Marian. Bethany's as much as a sister to me as she is to you. I'd be too cowardly to do the same if I was in your situation, but that's just the very reason that you're you. Truthfully, I...really hate the thought of you breaking into the Circle."

"I'm not asking you to understand, Sebastian. Just don't stop me…because I won't."

"Marian, for my sake-"

"Sebastian," she ground out warningly.

"- _please _be careful."

She blinked, scarcely able to believe her ears. He's not going to talk her out of it? Surprise, surprise. "Of _course _I will," she finally said.

"And bring me in on your plans. That is not up for discussion."

"Tch. Fine. Anything else, Your Highness?"

"Do not die."

The grip on her hand tightened. She turned her head towards him, and he gazed back at her earnestly. There were fear in his eyes, and worry. She leaned over and kissed him.

"I won't," she promised. Then, looking back up at the sky, she said: "Hurry up and make a wish!"

"Alright. World peace."

"Oh, come on! What kind of half-assed wish is that?" she laughed, giving him a playful sideways shove.

"What did _you_ wish for?"

"Hmm…" she said thoughtfully. "I wished for a perfect moment."

She surprised him then by rolling on top of him, straddling his hips and placing her palms gently over his chest. He remembered closing his eyes as she bent over, a rapturous sigh fanning his face as she whispered:

"And I daresay this is our perfect moment yet."

* * *

><p>Episode the next: Burying an old flame.<p> 


	25. Broody Toaster

AN: Or a mangled version of the Edgar Allan Poe Toaster. Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

On a celebratory note, happy Independence Day to my fellow countrymen! Enjoy the long weekend, everyone...

* * *

><p>The armed guards made Bethany feel like a criminal, and she resented it. If they really had it their way, they'd have carted her out of the cell in manacles. She almost wished that she'd never get anymore visitors just so she wouldn't sense the Templars' cautious stares needling her backside as if she was about to do mischief anytime.<p>

But all those dark thoughts fell away the moment she clapped eyes on a familiar figure standing expectantly at the waiting area.

"Sister!" she said, rushing over with a smile.

Marian's stormy expression changed, and she herself broke into a huge grin as she held out her arms.

They embraced; tightly, fiercely, each trying to convey their feelings to the other. Marian hadn't seen her sister for almost two months, and it was two months too long in her books.

"Maker, how I've missed you!" Bethany whispered onto Marian's shoulder.

"I know," said Marian, stroking the younger woman's back. "Sorry, Beth. Work and all that. I'd have come sooner, but-"

"What's important is you're here now," said Bethany.

Marian finally released her sister, holding her at arms' length and scrutinizing her person. "So, how are you? Really? You've lost weight! Did those bastard Templars do anything to you?" she asked, sharply raising her voice so that the guards standing to attention by the door could hear.

Bethany laughed. "Try teaching a group of boisterous children magic and you'll find yourself tearing your hairs out by the end of the week!"

"That tough, eh? Remind me to not have children, then."

"And let the Hawkes die off completely? _Never!_ Mother wouldn't hear any of that!"

"Fine, then I'll abandon my career for the sake of plucking the fruits of my loins. How about that?"

Their combined laughters bounced off the austere walls of the waiting area.

"Come," said Bethany, tugging Marian's arm. "I believe the outdoors are a far more palatable atmosphere than the ones we're having within."

"You mean, there're lesser pompous pricks out there compared to here?" Marian said brightly as she hefted up her pack and followed Bethany through another side exit.

"Sadly, that's not the case."

The gardens were just as Marian had remembered from the last time she was here: sparse, dull, _caged in. _Her eyes involuntarily travelled up to the forbidding walls enclosing the area. Nothing that couldn't be easily traversed with the help of crampons and a rope hook…but she couldn't help but wonder what other unpleasant surprises they'd find once they've reached the top. There's always the sewer route – a classic, albeit smelly exit. Maybe it's time she picked Anders' brain for the five best ways to escape a Circle alive.

"So what have you brought me?" Bethany asked, breaking her chain of thought as she brought them to a shady patch beneath a blossoming orange tree and sat down on the grass, motioning for Marian to do the same.

"Many things, actually," said Marian, swinging her pack to the ground and settling herself beside it. Her fingers began undoing its leather clasps and threw the cover open for Bethany to see. The younger woman's face instantly brightened up.

"That's-"

"Lemon cake from Orana," Marian announced proudly, taking it out and handing it over the Bethany. "Sorry about that missing slice. Apparently the guards think I'm going to smuggle a set of keys inside, so they've taken it upon themselves to taste test," she said, wrinkling her nose in annoyance.

"It's _lovely!_ Give her my thanks!"

Marian went on pulling out items from her pack. "You've got letters from Varric, a lace hanky from Bodahn and Sandal, strawberries and a bouquet from Merrill – they're a bit squashed, no thanks to the arsewipe who pawed through them. I swear they're about to order a strip search on me at the gates if I hadn't given them one of my best glares! Having them go through my things is already bad enough as it is!"

Bethany looked, and sure enough: Varric's letters had been unsealed and the envelope unceremoniously torn open. Templars probably thought they were secret spells, or escape plans written in clandestine code. Her lips tightened into a thin line.

"I got you a brooch set, with real diamonds and everything…but it got confiscated. Tch!" Marian grumbled darkly. "They said they'll return it to you once they're done screening it for enchantments. Let me know if they break their promise, will you? I've got a bone to pick on Meredith about the way she has her people treat Circle visitors."

"Just leave it be, sister," said Bethany, holding her gifts close to her as if they were the greatest treasures on earth. "I'm just very glad that you came."

Marian's murderous looks disappeared instantly, and she treated Bethany with a grateful smile. "As am I."

"So what news have you of the outside world?" Bethany asked, lovingly spreading her new hanky over her lap. Ink-stained fingers brushed over the small embroidery in one corner: a cursive BH done in golden thread.

"Same old, same old. Gamlen sends his love…if you can believe it. He _does _come and visit every now and then…doesn't he?"

"Frankly, I'd rather that he never comes anymore. All he does is complain and reminisce about Mother."

"That's his favourite pastime. It's a given. Anyway, I've got something else to discuss with you," said Marian, scooting herself closer until she bumped knees with Bethany. She leaned forth and dropped her voice into a conspiratory whisper. "I've finally figured out the security systems around the phylactery room, and with some fake documents, I think I can-"

"No."

Marian stuttered to a stop, clearly fazed by the palm held up firmly before her. Her gaze flickered up to Bethany's face. "No?" she echoed.

"I don't want you to do this."

Marian's mouth worked itself to form a coherant sentence, but when she couldn't, she got angry instead. All those months, _years_ of reconnaissance, and now Bethany says 'no'? How _dare_ her!

"Why?" she finally managed.

Bethany hastily lowered her hand and looked away, guilt evident on her features. "I…am happy here. For once I am with people who are like me and aren't afraid of what I am. I can't say the same once I'm out there. Don't you understand, sister?"

"No," said Marian, voice strangling with rage. "No, Bethany…I _don't. _Are you saying that after all these bending, scraping and just plain banging my head against the bloody wall _trying_ to find a way out for you, you just conveniently tell me that you're not up for it anymore? Is that what you're really saying? _Huh?"_

"I understand that you're angry-"

"Oh, 'angry' just wouldn't cut the mustard anymore. D'you have any idea how many gormy bastards I had to wade through just to get those plans? You don't, do you? You don't _understand, _Bethany. They've…they've _brainwashed _you into thinking that this is it…this is the best option for you ever. Why are you letting a group of self-righteous tincans dictate how you should lead your life? No, I cannot accept this. I _will not!" _

"Sister," said Bethany, reaching out placatingly, but Marian slapped her hands away and began to gather up her pack. "You're not leaving now, are you?"

"I don't see any reason for me to stay!" Marian snapped back, tugging at the leather drawstrings with such vehemence that it almost broke.

"Please, _just listen to me!"_ Bethany said, loud enough to attract the attention of a Templar nearby. Beneath his suspicious gaze, Marian visibly subsided, although she still maintained her thunderous expression.

"It's time you did something for yourself," Bethany went on in much quieter tones. "You need to stop thinking that I need rescuing all the time. I'm fine here. I really am. I've made friends, and Orsino respects me - although I think it's partly because you're my sister – but this is the life I've grown comfortable with."

"Father wouldn't want this on you."

"I know. But he's dead, and I'm not. I'd rather keep it that way."

Marian opened her mouth to press her point further, but suddenly stopped herself. It was no use. Bethany had clearly changed from her time here. Arguing with her now was like arguing with Carver, in the sense that Marian got that inexplicable urge to box the younger woman's ears for being a mouthy brat.

"You're right," she finally said with an irritated sigh. "You're all grown up now, so you obviously know what's best. I shouldn't interfere anymore."

Bethany had the grace to look surprised. "That's it? You're not going to fight me out of it?"

"Be wasting my time if I did. Why? You're expecting one?"

"If it's you, of course! This _has _to be some sort of trick. I'm warning you: if you're thinking of an underhanded tactic to win later, then don't bother."

"Bethany," said Marian wearily. "My work's done here. Am I unhappy with your choice? Yes, yes I am. This is Father's crusade you're asking me to give up-"

"You're right," said Bethany in steely tones. "It had been, and will forever be _Father's. _You need to go start your own."

Marian treated Bethany with a stare that went far longer than it was comfortable, causing the younger woman to fidget and snap defiantly: "What?"

"Where's that sweet Bethany who always followed me around and listened to whatever I said?"

"We were _children!_ Besides, you know I did that to escape Carver's bullying!"

"Ahh…the halcyon days of youth indeed," said Marian in tones laced with sticky tendrils of irony.

"Halcyon? Isn't that the…you know…the six-sided shape?"

"You mean…hexagon? No, no…that has a completely different meaning."

"Or is it seven?"

"That would be octagon."

"No, you silly. It's _heptagon. _Tch, trust _rogues_ to get things wrong."

The sisters began ganging up on each other, debating the points that yes, heptagon is seven-sided, mages have a propensity for idiot moments too and halcyon was actually a type of bird. A brown tit, if Marian remembered her ornithology accurately.

All in all, Marian thought as she watched Bethany's flushed face arguing back at her, it had been a good afternoon. At the very least she'd got her sister to forget that landmine topic concerning her freedom. It was a terrible moment when Marian realized this could be the last time she'd ever see Bethany again. It wouldn't do for them to part on bad terms now.

Before she left, Marian hugged Bethany in an exceptionally fierce manner, alarming younger woman. She'd questioned this, but Marian brushed it off with her usual flippant manner. Marian would do anything to hide the lingering regret in her eyes.

* * *

><p>Back home, Marian carefully measured out a precise amount of wine inside her glass. She set down the bottle with an almost reverential air, making sure she'd corked it again. It was <em>the <em>special wine to her, one that had been a housewarming gift from ages ago. She'd valued as if it were ambrosia from the gods, and she'd _die _before she sees it being used for anything other than a special occasion. Tonight was one such occasion. It was the time when she celebrated Fenris's funeral.

Not in a literal sense, of course. It was more of her symbolic burial of her feelings towards him. It's been almost four days since that stupid elf walked out on her, and she wasn't sure if he'd ever come back. It'd be too high of a hope, and Maker knows she'd already tacked one hope too many on him. It's about time she stopped clinging to dreams and let go of him for real this time.

It was at the corner of her garden where she performed her final rites, amongst the sweet blossoms of Bodahn's roses and the wonderful view overlooking Lowtown and the sea. She'd buried a box of mementoes from him: the awkward love letters he gave her when he first learned to write, some spare copper change, the fading label of an Aggregio, an interesting feather bookmark and for some strange reason: a tiny rat skull. Taking three of Bodahn's fat roses, she pressed them onto the 'grave' and lovingly arranged its velvety petals for a more visually appealing look.

Finally satisfied, she sat back on her heels, raised her glass and said:

"Here's to you, Fenris…you bloody bastard and jolly well my first love. You think of me as an idiot, yet I think of you as a man I'd never really want to leave. I pray that the Maker will overlook those times when you whispered filthy things in Arcanum during Elthina's Sunday mass. Rest in peace."

She drank down the wine in one go. Wiping her chin with one hand, she sighed and wondered if she'd made a complete fool out of herself. The sudden rumblings of a familiar voice made her yelp and jump to her feet.

"A stirring eulogy. I'm glad I'm actually around to hear it. Most people never get that chance."

"Fenris! You startled me!" she huffed, clutching at her chest.

"I can see you are holding my funeral," the elf said wryly, stepping out of the shadows. "But I feel I should point out one small detail…?" He gestured to himself.

"It's supposed to be metaphorical!" she snapped. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I came to give you your wedding gift."

"What? Oh, Maker…please tell me it's not a hideous fruit salad platter. I've had enough of those!"

He chuckled, a comforting sound she's been missing all the while. "Actually…no. I didn't bring anything. Couldn't think of what to get you."

_"Obviously_ you're the last person to know. The engagement's off," she said, feeling the buzz of alcohol in her ears. Dratsville, she'd always known she was a lightweight, but not _this _lightweight. If this was an ongoing gag, then she'd much prefer it to happen to someone else.

Fenris raised a brow. "Why not?"

"Oh, stop hiding your stupid dance of joy! You saw this coming a mile away. You – you've engineered my downfall! Anyway, I didn't do it because of you. I've my own reasons…"

"I _see."_ He watched her carefully, waiting for further explanations. When she offered none, he lowered his gaze as if to measure his next words before meeting her eyes again. "I should apologize to you for leaving…twice, in fact. It is a folly I will come to regret for the rest of my life."

"Well it wouldn't be a folly if you had a bit of sense inside that thick head of yours," she said, waving the empty glass towards him accusingly.

He spread his arms wide, as if allowing that barb to hit him. "I deserve that. I deserve all the hate you have towards me. When I left, I've been thinking about what you said and did for me…and needless to say I got angry."

"Hmph, no major discovery there," she muttered, setting down the glass and turning around to watch the breathtaking vista of Lowtown. It wasn't a scene worthy of a postcard, but anywhere was better than having to look at his face.

"Let me finish, Marian," he said in steely tones. "But then I started to _really _think about you…how you talk, how you look, how I felt…well, it all came back to me in a rush, and that made me realize something…"

Marian said nothing, did nothing to encourage his end of the conversation. She knew he was going to say his piece regardless of her response.

"I can't make you happy. I can't offer you half of what Sebastian has given to you. I can barely control my feelings and I'll end up hurting you in the long run. But I…I think I…no, I _know _I…oh, blast this!" he snarled, subsiding into a string of Arcanum curses.

Marian waited for the storm to blow over before saying: "That's either an insult, or you've just called me a green ferret. Which one is it? They're the same, aren't they? Oh!"

Fenris had strode over and yanked her around, placing both hands firmly on her shoulders. "I love you, Marian," he growled, his voice rough from emotion. "I'd willingly walk through the Fade and rescue you from the depths of the Void just to have you once more for one night. The memories of you burn brighter than these cursed markings, so much so that I'd _brand_ myself with them if I could. I love you, and yes – I'd be honoured if you would bear my son…although I still maintain that I did not write that bloody poem. I love you, but I can no longer have you. You are my soul, and I've been such a fool for not realizing that sooner."

Marian stared at him, open-mouthed. Of all the times to give his heartfelt confession! Somewhere in the dusty corners of her mind, she'd been dreaming and dreading this moment at once. Dreaming that it'd happen and dreading that it'd come too late. Why, oh why must they come true now?

"You can always tattoo them, you know," she babbled. "Sebastian only has to add an N to his and it'll be a lovely surprise."

Fenris frowned, unsure of what he just heard. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "Private joke. Just ignore it."

"Marian, have you been listening to what I just said?"

"Yes, yes I have. You've very clearly stated your point. I get that. I…I'm…this is surreal. Either I'm dreaming or that wine is stronger than I think."

He gave her a rather roguish grin. "If this is a dream, then it wouldn't matter if I kissed you, right?"

That prompted her jolt back to reality. "Kiss me? _Kiss me?_ This is supposed to be your funeral, Fenris! I'm supposed to _bury_ you!" she exclaimed, wrenching his hands away from her. "I'm not about to have one last fling just because it's…it's convenient! You shouldn't even _be_ here!"

"Shall I leave, then?" he asked, quietly.

"Yes! NO! I mean…no! It wouldn't do to have the corpse get up and walk away before the final rites were done." She stopped, watching the mental image and began to giggle.

"Marian, I'm truly sorry. If it'd take an entire lifetime of apologies for you to forgive me, then I'd do it."

"Don't," she said. "Don't be sorry. Feel happy for me instead. For all our bickering and name-calling, you're still my best friend, Fenris. That will never change no matter what."

"I _am _happy for you."

She sagged, feeling drained all of a sudden. "Fenris, you-" Her hands waved about vaguely as she struggled to find the right words. She finally resorted to punching him hard in the arm instead.

"Augh! What the hells was _that_ for?!"

"You have such lousy timing, you know that?" she fumed, suddenly angry. "You come and go as you please, we…we had sex when _you_ wanted it, and you always want to have the last word. _Everything _has to happen on _your_ terms. You - with your serious control issues. I honestly doubt there is a single _woman, _human or no, who'd be able to put up with you for long. Well, maybe Orana…or some other character with similar mousy countenance-"

"I'm not interested in other women!" Fenris countered irritably.

"Well, that's _your_ problem then," she snapped. "I'm not about to go on some cockamamie sidequest to matchmake you just because you're allergic to Feelings! You know, I once threatened a kitten to make Anders get along with you. A _kitten!" _She huffed, trying to rein in her temper, and finally muttered: "Goodness knows I hate that."

"You can't be serious."

"He said that the next time he sets your arse on fire, he'll be sure to say 'please' first." She snorted at the absurdity of the idea. Turning away from him, she trudged over to a nearby stone bench and settled herself heavily on it.

"Well?" she went on. "You're here. I'm here. What're we going to do?"

Fenris considered his options. On one hand, he was still smarting from her tongue lashing, but that was just his ego talking. He'd asked for it, he really did. Wearing the past like a thorny badge had pushed Marian further away than he'd imagined. He could leave, _again…_but what would that achieve? He'd come back to her eventually. It was hopeless. He and Marian were both hopeless.

"What _do _we do when we're together?" he finally asked, stooping down to pick up the wine and then strolling over to join her at the bench. He unstoppered the bottle with a _pop, _took a long swig, and made a face. "We talk."

"About what?"

"For starters," he drew out slowly, as if prolonging the thought. "I've given up interior decorating."

There was a gasp of surprise from Marian. "What?! I didn't know you've got _hobbies!"_

"It was all a mess, really. Too many difficult decisions to make," he said, keeping his tones light to indicate that he wasn't being serious. "I mean, I actually _liked_ the bloodspattered wallpapers. It adds character, a certain…warrior chic."

Marian chuckled. "And then what happened?"

"I couldn't bring myself to rearrange anything. I like the place as it is. I mean, I know it's all mine and I can do whatever I like with it." Fenris paused, his eyes taking on a nostalgic mist, "But I touch a chair, and remember you sitting on it. I look at the cracked balustrade – you know, the one at the main staircase? – and see you chopping the head off a Shade only to slip and miss. And that locked trunk inside the spare bedroom. You spent days trying to crack it, and refused when I offered to open it for you."

"_Break_ it, you mean. It was a Hostlers' five-tumbler with pressure-triggered counterlock. A classic. They don't make them anymore, and that man was known for his _impossible _locks. I like a good challenge, and maybe I'm good enough to try it again. I'm betting the traps have reset itself by now…?"

Fenris leaned closer, bumping a shoulder with hers. It was a move he'd picked up from her; but coming from him, it was awkward, unpracticed. "You'd have to see it for yourself."

Marian studied his familiar smile, his hopeful gaze, and looked away with a sigh. "Fenris, what are you saying?"

The shifting of air beside her indicated that he'd moved himself back. "That I'm a sentimental idiot."

"Hah, that goes without saying. Listen: I don't care what you do you're your house, but maybe a healthy change is good for you. Tear the whole damned place down, build something new! Then we'll make more memories…better than the last! You know I'm always around whenever you need me. "

"Are you really? Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Have I ever done that? With you? With our friends? Come on…you know better than to ask me that."

"That is…correct. My apologies."

Marian sighed, looking up to the skies. "When did all of this go to shit?"

"When I left that night."

"You saying that you wish you hadn't?"

"No, even if I could relive that moment many times over, I'd still leave."

"Oh. Well, that's comforting."

"But I'd come back, sooner than you can imagine. I'd barely cleared the door before I'd run back to you, on the bed, and swear I'd never leave ever again. And it could go many ways from there, just like it could from here on out."

"You know, that actually sounds romantic. Coming from you, that is."

"What can I say? I'm crazy about you. I still am."

He touched her chin and turned her face towards him just as she was about to protest. The look in his eyes silenced her. They were roaming over her features as if he was making a mental image to burn inside his eyelids. He smiled, and brought their foreheads together. When he spoke next, it was in the slow, flowing lilt of someone reciting a poem: "I will always think of you whenever I see someone reading a book, whenever someone screams hysterically, whenever someone laughs while in pain, or in pain while laughing. I will always think of you, Marian."

She said nothing. There really was nothing to say at times like these.

"Will you think of me too?"

She cried instead.

She wasn't a pretty crier. She's no classical movie star with smudgeproof mascara. The waterworks began like a burst pipe, and her face was a splotch of red like a Mars continent. Yet Fenris silently watched, making no effort whatsoever to brush away her tears. No words were necessary at this time. How can you describe the true magnitude of human suffering in just one sentence? Or one paragraph? He understood that, and he remained a silent yet assuring presence as he held her.

She hated this. She hated amputating her emotions when she was still clearly attached to it. How can she have everything and lose everything at the same time? She'd slain countless demons, yet she couldn't exorcize the ones living in her memories.

Her sobs finally wound down to hiccups. She sniffled, the watery smile on her face a sign that she was picking the pieces of her former self.

"This is embarrassing," she said, trying to chuckle.

"Don't be."

"You're the third person ever to see me like this…so consider it an honour."

She sighed, leaning against him. They said nothing else after that, simply staring at the view and revelling in each other's comforting presence. He sat with her in her room afterwards, watching her as she slept. He savoured these final intimate moments with her like a dying man, but when he saw the first signs of daybreak, he reluctantly let go of her hand and allowed one last kiss on her lips before stealing out without so much as a backwards glance.

* * *

><p>Episode the next: Epilogue<p> 


	26. Epilogue: How To Not Say Goodbye

AN: Contains direct quotes from _Malacca: A Romance_ by Kamsiah M. Bostock. Dragon Age series and all its known characters belong to Bioware.

* * *

><p>"Sooo…that's pretty much it."<p>

Marian sat back and watched as Isabela studied her thoughtfully. The usual hubbub of the Rivani settlement camp flowed over them like a river. It had become a somewhat unspoken meeting place between them both whenever they wanted to escape the usual crowd at the Hanged Man.

Isabela finally chuckled. "Sebby's the one, eh?" she said with a wink. "Can't say I'm surprised. You've been crushing on him before you even met Fenris."

"Um…I don't think it's a matter of who I crushed on first."

"I know, I know. Well, good for you both. You already told the rest of the gang about this? Or do I hold the honour of being the bearer of good news?"

"You're the only one so far. I –uh- don't really know how to tell them."

"Just say the same thing you said to me. We should celebrate this. We could call it the 'Hawke post-breakup and get together again' party. Where's Sebastian, anyway? Thought that he'd be here as well."

"He's gone back to the Chantry. Apparently he's quite knackered."

"Eh? From what?"

"Well," said Marian rather slowly. "After the meteor shower, there may be an instance – and I say this hypothetically – where we both suddenly found ourselves randier than a teenager."

Isabela quirked a finely shaped brow at this. "Oh? And what happens next…this hypothetical situation of yours?"

"We figured that we needed the services of an ordained priest rather desperately. So we woke Father Gilmore up and…asked for a favour."

"I don't suppose this 'favour' involves a lot of praying?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And…vows?"

"Exactly."

"Feh!" Isabela scoffed. "Don't tell me you got Sebastian to renew his vows just so you wouldn't screw each other? That's just…abysmally stupid!"

"No, not _that_ kind of vow."

"Then what kind are you talking about…?"

Marian smiled rather beatifically, and got up. "G'night, love. We should do this again next week."

"Hell, no. C'mon! Where are you going?"

Isabela watched in exasperation as Marian tossed a wave over her shoulder. The pirate's mind was racing. _What kind of blasted vow? _She started counting out with her fingers the types of religious rigmaroles people usually do. _Fealty. Brotherhood service. Confessions. Weddings…_

Her eyes suddenly goggled spectacularly.

_Weddings…_

Marian had barely cleared a few feet when she heard the rather strangled scream:

"_EEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHH….?" _

She grinned to herself.

* * *

><p>There's nothing like seeing the aftermath of a party and wishing that you could do it all over again. The hallway of Hawke mansion was still ringing with the echoes of her merrymaking friends even after all of them have long gone. Marian finally made no secret that she's kind-of married. Nobody would say the word 'elope' aloud, because technically both bride and groom had no parents to run away from. As it were, proof of the not-really wedding dinner was still evident at the dining room.<p>

Varric's boots crunched over bits of broken pottery as he tottered his way across the foyer. In his state of tipsiness he still managed to find the right door and fell into the library at the second try.

"Whoops, 'scuse me," he said, noticing the figure hunched before the fireplace. "Thought this room was empty."

"It's just me, Varric."

"Fenris! What're you doing here all by yourself? Weren't you supposed to be at the Hanged Man? Isabela invited everyone for the after party."

"How come _you're_ not on your way there?"

Varric went to the nearest armchair. It took every ounce of concentration for him to hop on; and once he finally did, he scooted his buttocks backwards and sighed contentedly against the cushions. His stubby feet dangled over the edge of the seat like a child's.

"'M too sloshed to walk straight," he said. "Thought I'd take a breather first before braving my way back to Lowtown. Say, you wouldn't mind us going together, would you?"

"I'm…not going. Sorry."

"Oh? So you'll crawl back to your home, then? Tch, you're no fun at all." Varric blinked, finally noticing the thing cradled in Fenris's hands.

"Ah, yes. Cue the jilted lover scene," the dwarf said. There wasn't a single trace of humour nor irony in his voice. "Plenty of memories with that sword, huh? Hawke sure has a good eye for gifts, yes serrah."

"That she does."

Varric pursed his lips, letting out a heavy sigh. "You can't stay here, you know. It'll just make things worse," he gently said.

"I will go when I feel like it!"

"Alright, alright. Fine. Have it your way." Varric placed his elbows on the armrest and laced his fingers over his belly. "Shall I tell you what happens next between you and Hawke?"

"No."

"She'll move back to Starkhaven with Choir Boy. In a few years she'll start pushing out kids and write to all of us about them. But in _your _letter, she'll write between the lines all the things she wish she could say, like how she wished her kids have your eyes, and how she wanted you to be the one waking up next to her every morning. Maybe there'll be a bit of smudged ink here and there. You'd think it's probably due to raindrops, but _you know_ in your heart of hearts it's because of her crying as she wrote those words."

Silence flowed in, punctuated only by the echoes of old regrets and dusty memories.

"That's how Bianca got her name," said Fenris. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah well, you know me, Broody. I like it when the hero dies in the end. It's even better if he doesn't get the girl." Varric paused. "Not every story can end with _'And they all lived happily ever after'_."

"I _know_ that," growled Fenris. "I just wish-"

"That it's not happening to you? Sorry, kid…but it is. Look, I'm not going to feed you crappy lines about plenty more fish in the sea and whatnot. The worse thing you can do to a man after handing him the second prize is to rub it in his face. You'll be…okay. I know it."

Wordlessly, Fenris rubbed the newest addition to his sword with a thumb. Varric didn't have to ask what it was. It was no accident that Hawke's betrothal portrait was stolen weeks after it was comissioned. Now it was comfortably nestled at the centre of the pommel like a crown jewel and treated with as much reverence as a knight would have towards his patron goddess.

"Pure resin and tempered orichalum casing," said Varric, referring to the portrait. "It'd take real smithing skills to fuse it to the sword without ruining it. Whoever did it was a genius."

"Yes, well…it was worth every sovereign."

"I can see that."

Fenris stared unseeingly into the fire. His mind's eye started to wander upstairs, to a place where he knew he should've but couldn't be.

_Wet kisses, a thousand-thousand kisses to make up for the years of abstinence… _

Varric cleared his throat. "During pivotal moments of melancholia, I find it helps to either seek solace from the bottom of a tankard, or do something incredibly daredevilish just to get it out of your system. Usually those two happen together. Hey, how about we rename your sword?"

Fenris snorted. "Like what? Gladys? Or _'Ser Exterminator'?"_

"Nothing quite as extreme, I assure you. Something sweeter. Something that rolls off your tongue everytime you say it."

_The warmth of honey and roses drawing their bodies tighter together to the point where they could no longer separate themselves…_

Fenris tried not to imagine. Did they roll on the bed, wrapped in silken sheets? He blocked out the image. Cocooned themselves into an eternity of pleasure for an hour of consummated love? Did Marian succumb to his whispered endearments? Did Sebastian make love to her over and over again?

Only the shadows cast by the flickering fireplace of her room knew the truth.

Fenris hefted up his sword, observing the way light hardly ever glinted off its dark blade. The thing seemed dormant, lifeless…belying the amount of raw power it possessed beneath the surface. He ran a finger down the cold steel, watching it come to life from the magic on his skin. He imagined those same fingers trailing over a much different form, one that is soft and pliant, all curves and muscle.

He allowed himself a wan smile. "Marian," he whispered.

* * *

><p>There were…hints. But even the slightest bit could spark off gossip. The members of Give Fenris His Hawke had been naturally dejected at the outcome of the matter. Some had even drifted off to other couplings, simply for the act of speculation and 'what ifs'. One such conversation was taking place, within the cramped, dusty walls of a typical Lowtown hovel.<p>

"So who'd you think be the next awesome couple?"

"Dunno. Maybe Knight-Captain Cullen and a mage?"

"He's already done that! He had that thing with this mage back in the Ferelden Circle, hadn't he? Hardly spoke about the girl, but it's happened before."

"Ooh! Ooh! I got it!"

"What's that?"

"How about: Give Meredith Her Orsino?"

There was a significant dramatic pause, until someone finally said: "That's crazier than a nug humping a bronto!"

"Meh. I know, I know. Just thought of letting that idea float around for a bit."

"But…"

"But what?"

"It might just work."

THE END

* * *

><p>So long, farewell. Thanks for putting up with my silliness, guys :)<p> 


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